


Ten Years Gone

by gefhrlich



Series: If You Wanna Rock 'N' Roll [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, lawyer!Cas, mechanic!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gefhrlich/pseuds/gefhrlich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was an idiot. He had to be. Why else would he be fifteen minutes outside of Manhattan right now, driving at approximately 2.5 miles per hour in rush hour traffic in a car that got 14 miles to the gallon to ambush a guy he had a crush on in the 11th grade. That is the sort of thing a total crazy person does, therefore, Dean Winchester must be a completely off his damn rocker. Nuttier than a fruitcake. Two beers short of a six pack.</p>
<p>And yet, here he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to The Inescapable Dean Winchester, so I recommend you start there. 
> 
> Title based on the Led Zeppelin song, because OBVIOUSLY.

Dean was an idiot. He had to be. Why else would he be fifteen minutes outside of Manhattan right now, driving at approximately 2.5 miles per hour in rush hour traffic in a car that got 14 miles to the gallon to ambush a guy he had a crush on in the 11th grade. That is the sort of thing a total crazy person does, therefore, Dean Winchester must be a completely off his damn rocker. Nuttier than a fruitcake. Two beers short of a six pack.

And yet, here he was.

And Christ, could it be any hotter? The city air was about as pleasant as a wet blanket and between the humidity and the nerves, Dean was a sweaty wreck. When he'd left Lawrence he'd been _so sure_ that this was the right choice, but all of a sudden those cold, familiar tendrils of doubt were winding their way around Dean's ribcage. Did he imagine the look of desperate longing and affection in Cas' eyes right before his dick brother, Gabriel, interrupted and sent the guy of Dean's dreams scurrying for the door? In that moment, he had been certain Cas meant to stay, that it would take nothing more than a gentle coaxing to get that skittish man Dean found so utterly _impossible_ to forget to linger just a little longer. Like the total sucker Dean is, he hoped that maybe Cas would still find him as charming as he did when they were kids and fall for him. Which, when Dean thought about it for more than a few seconds, was fucking ridiculous. Cas' life was in New York City and Dean's was in Lawrence. The fact that they'd encountered each other by chance was unbelievable enough and there was no way they'd be able to make it anything serious. And what the hell made him think Cas would even want to see him? Maybe Dean was just some small-town yokel that Cas liked to fuck just to tell stories to his friends or...

"Jesus, Dean, if you keep thinking so hard you'll pop a blood vessel."

"What?" Dean snapped his attention to his brother in the passenger seat, who was watching him warily with a heavy crease between his brows.

"I can practically hear you second guessing yourself," Sam said, laying one monstrous hand on Dean's shoulder in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring. "Just relax. Cas will be thrilled to see you. I'm sure of it."

Dean snorted. "What makes you think I'd be worried about that? Totally not worried, like, not at all," Dean said, but the words sounded too thin and there was no question as to whether or not Sam was on to him. He was giving Dean the signature puppy-dog-eyed, "I'm worried about you" look that Dean hated.

Dean leveled Sam with a glare and watched as his brother deflated, settling with the fact that Dean wasn't going to talk about it.  

"Okay, Talbot & Turner is on 47th and 5th , that's me. Adler, MacLeod & Masters, that's Cas' firm, is on 50th and 7th. That's about seven blocks away," Sam said, studying the little GPS map of the city on his phone.

"Fantastic. So it'll only take another two and a half fucking hours to get there," Dean grumbled.

"It better not. My meeting is in thirty minutes."

"Don't worry, princess. We'll get you there in plenty of time to comb your hair and put on your lipstick."

Jokes aside, Dean was stupidly proud of his little brother. He'd always known Sammy was the smart one, that he would make something of himself. And here he was, interviewing with a major firm in New York City and, if everything went as planned, would have an offer from the environmental law department before he even graduated in the fall. Sam would have a good life, a secure life, and it made all the struggle, the double shifts, the cutting corners over the years, worth it for Dean. He could consider it Life Mission: Accomplished. So, what now?

Dean was struggling with that exact conundrum when Sam came home to Lawrence two weeks ago and told Dean about the interview. He was floundering between beaming with pride and confronting the horrifying concept that his baby brother was a grown ass man and it left him unsettled, on edge. All he wanted to do was have a couple beers and a few laughs with his brother and their friends like old times. Of course, that was the moment Castiel Novak decided to drop out of the sky and into _his bar_.

And where does that guy even come from? Seriously, the dude has this unreal ability to appear out of nowhere when Dean least expects to see him, like a harbinger of teenage nostalgia with sex hair and a voice that's been dragged through gravel. And Dean was drawn to him like a magnet every goddamn time. Just thinking about the man made Dean's blood run cold and then hot again, which was precisely the reason he was here, in New York, under the pretense that he was here to see Sammy through his interview. He just couldn't stop thinking about Cas. 

So, they hooked up, a few times. That was a process with which Dean was intimately familiar. He liked sex and disliked emotional attachments, therefore a series of one night stands was pretty much par for the course. But Cas? Cas was different. He had a way of getting under Dean's skin and ever since he literally stumbled his way into Dean's life some fifteen plus years ago, well, it got Dean thinking that maybe more than one night wouldn't be so bad. Of course, normal, sane people didn't drive nineteen hours in two days on the off-chance that some guy you had a tumble with a time or two would want to have dinner.

And that was the horrible truth of the thing, all Dean wanted was to _see_ Cas. He just wanted to sit across from him at a table and watch him eat a hamburger or drink a beer and talk with him for a little while. If they fell into bed after that, then he'd consider that a bonus. And if Cas said no and called Dean a stalker and a psychopath? Well, then at least Dean might finally be able to get those piercing blue eyes and soft lips out of his damn mind.

"Just drop me here Dean, I'll walk the rest of the way," Sam said anxiously, jarring Dean from his thoughts once again.

"Alright. Good luck, Sammy. You got this," Dean reassured his brother, giving him a slap on his massive shoulder and a smile.

"Thanks, Dean. Good luck to you too. Try not to fuck it up, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Like anyone could say no to this face," Dean quipped with a wink.

Sam was giving him that damn look again, but Dean ignored him. He couldn't stand it if Sam got all mushy on him again and luckily Sam kept whatever girly thoughts he had to himself this time. He gave Dean a resolute nod and stepped out of the car and disappeared into the chaos of the New York City streets. 

________________________

It took Dean an inordinate amount of time to reach Adler, MacLeod & Masters LLP, which was located on the top floors of an impressive skyscraper in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Dean thanked his lucky stars for the valet service at the entrance (until they swindled $16 fucking dollars from him to take his baby away into some scummy underground lot). The towering building shimmered in the summer sun as the floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around it reflected the patches of blue sky that was visible above the skyline and Dean couldn't help but wonder how people could stand living in this city.

Dean lived in New York for a brief period in his mid-twenties. He fell in love with a girl named Lisa and moved to Brooklyn to be with her. But the crush of the city around him and the constant racket made Dean claustrophobic and edgy and despite the way his heart ached leaving Lisa and the son he almost considered his own behind, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief upon his escape. It was as if he'd been holding his breath for over a year and suddenly released the all tension in one massive exhale.

While living in Brooklyn, Dean avoided midtown Manhattan like the plague, particularly buildings like this one. Dean assessed the rotating glass doors warily before darting in and ducking out again, avoiding the push and shove of a bunch of dicks in suits swinging their briefcases around like personal space wasn't even a thing. Inside was all hard surfaces, tall ceilings and wide open spaces. The click of high heels on marble floors, the trilling of cell phones and the din of voices was deafening and Dean quickly made his way to the elevator bay, for once anxious for the silence of a tiny steel box on strings to hurtle him hundreds of feet in the air while listening to smooth jazz, because that sounded a hell of a lot more relaxing than standing the lobby.

Dean quickly entered a mirror-lined elevator with a handful of dudes wearing too much cologne and expensive haircuts and took a calming breath as the elevator moved silently upwards. Thanks to all the reflective surfaces and twelve hundred dollar suits around him, Dean was suddenly self-conscious in his t-shirt and jeans. It wasn't often that Dean thought about his style choices, and today was no exception, other than the fact that he'd worn the green shirt because Jo said it brought out his eyes.

When the doors opened, there was a press of bodies urgently exiting and entering the elevator simultaneously and Dean tried not to get knocked around. He took another deep breath and stepped into the reception area of Cas' firm. Everything around him was shades of gray from the fog-colored walls to the chrome hardware. A woman with bright red hair sat behind an imposing slate-colored desk typing primly on a keyboard. Dean approached the desk and the woman gave him a tight-lipped smile.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. I'm looking for Castiel Novak? He, uh, he works here."

Dean cringed at his own nervous idiocy and the receptionist gave him a skeptical look.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, clasping her bony hands together in front of her in a way that reminded Dean of his third grade teacher, Mrs. Thomas, who was prone to giving Dean similar looks when he misbehaved.

"Um, no. He's a friend."

"So, he's not expecting you?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Well, no. But I only need to see him for like, five minutes," Dean said.

"Sir, our partners at the firm do not meet with clients or... _friends_ without appointments. I can put you in touch with his secretary and you can schedule an opportunity to meet with him at another time," she said stiffly.

Who the hell did this bitch think she was, the god damn gate keeper? And wait, did she say _partner?_ Cas had neglected to mention that tidbit of information at their last encounter. Then again, there hadn't been a huge amount of talking.

Clearly, the asking politely route was not getting him anywhere so Dean plastered on his most charming smile and glanced surreptitiously at the plaque sitting on the receptionist's desk. "Listen, _Jennifer,_ I know it's your job to keep the riff-raff on the street away from your employers and I don't want to cause you any trouble, but if you could just, I dunno, get him on the phone? Maybe ask if he'll see me? I'd be eternally grateful. And if not, you're free to kick me out." He gave her a little wink for good measure and he saw the tightness around her mouth lessen slightly.  Victory was his.

Jennifer heaved a put upon sigh and picked up the phone on her desk. "Your name, sir?"

"Dean Winchester."

She punched a couple numbers on the keypad. "Pamela, there is a gentleman by the name of _Dean Winchester_ here to see Mr. Novak. He _doesn't_ have an appointment." She gave Dean a nasty glare over the delicate rims of her glasses but Dean just smiled back.

Jennifer hung up the phone and just stared at Dean with a look on her face like she smelled something rank and Dean almost had the urge to sniff his t-shirt before he decided that's just what her face looked like. After an awkward couple seconds, a very pretty woman in a tight black dress, chestnut hair and legs for days strode into the lobby. She approached the reception desk and Jennifer nodded her head in Dean's direction and the babe in black turned her attention to Dean. She gave Dean the once over and didn't even bother to hide the smirk or the arch of her left eyebrow as she approached him.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah, hi. I'm here to see Cas. Er, Mr. Novak," Dean said sheepishly. He was not expecting so many obstacles between him and Cas, who was apparently secured away like he was the goddamn Queen of England.

"Uh huh," the woman said, throwing Dean a knowing smile. "I'm his secretary, Pam. Mr. Novak is very busy. May I ask what this is regarding?"

Dean visibly deflated. "I understand. I am a friend of his. I guess. From Kansas."

The woman's right eyebrow shot up to join the left. "From Kansas, huh?"

Dean nodded dumbly.

"Right this way, Mr. Winchester." She turned on her heel and walked very briskly past the partition and into the main of the office far too quickly for a woman in heels that high and Dean stumbled after her, giving Jennifer at the reception desk a triumphant look.

It was early afternoon and the office was buzzing. Men and women in dark suits and shiny shoes flitted around the room yelling into expensive cell phones and heaving file folders this way and that. Dean followed after the woman's trim frame like a lost puppy as she expertly dodged flinging arms and jogging interns. She directed him past a series of glass-walled conference rooms and rows of cubicles until they were standing in front of a corner office with a closed door and a sign that said:

**_Castiel Novak_ **

**_Partner_ **

Dean's stomach swooped nervously and he wasn't sure whether to blame the terrifying distance between himself and the ground (which he was made acutely aware of now that he was standing in front of a bay of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city), or the fact that Cas was on the other side of that suddenly intimidating door. Pamela shot him one last smirk before knocking sharply on the door and swinging it open wide without waiting for a response. Dean hovered just outside the office, shifting from foot to foot with a lump in his throat the size of Texas. From his obscured location, he could hear Pamela's warm but professional tone followed by the deep rumble of Cas' voice, though he couldn't make out the words. A few moments later, Pamela returned to Dean and gestured him toward the open door. It was now or never and Dean took a hesitant step inside.

Cas' office was something else. It was practically the size of Dean's living room and was eighty percent windows. The remaining walls were lined with massive, overstuffed bookshelves and slick, dark file cabinets topped with framed photographs. In the center of the room was an imposing wooden desk heaped with towering stacks of papers, behind which was Cas.

Cas was bent over his desk with a pair of dark framed glasses pushed up into his mess of dark hair. He heaved a heavy sigh and straightened his tie before lifting his eyes to Dean. Cas froze halfway out of his chair.  

"Uh, hey Cas," Dean said, unable to control the awkward smile that was spreading across his face.

Despite the deer-in-the-headlights expression he was wearing, Cas looked good. Like, criminally good. Like, Dean wanted to go shake the hand of his tailor because the slim-cut gray suit he was wearing with a narrow tie and white button down shirt made the bottom drop out of Dean's stomach and the blood rush rapidly south.

"Dean?" Cas croaked.

Dean couldn't decide whether Cas looked horrified or simply surprised and he nearly went sprinting for the elevators, but when he glanced back at the doorway Pamela gave Dean a reassuring wink and disappeared from his line of sight. So, before he lost his gumption, Dean took a bold step into Cas' office and barreled ahead.

"Sorry to barge in here. I know you’re busy and I meant to call beforehand but, um, to be honest, I kept losing my nerve." Dean flushed at the admission, but it was the truth. He nearly called Cas a number of times during the drive, his finger hovering over the call button, but he kept chickening out. At one point, Sam got so irritated with Dean's lack of balls that he snatched the phone away and pressed the button, which resulted in a tussle at 80 miles per hour that nearly landed them in a ditch alongside the highway. Dean managed to end the call before Cas picked up and Sam pouted for the next hour, rubbing the shoulder where Dean had clocked him.

“So, you just looked me up and showed up at my office mid-day?’ Cas asked.

And shit, that wasn't what people said when they were happy to see you.

“I’m not some kind of stalker, I swear. Sammy had an interview with a firm in town and he asked me to come with him, moral support, you know? Unlike you, I look people up when I’m in the vicinity.”

At that, Cas smiled and Dean felt his heart dislodge slightly from where it had made its home in Dean's throat.

“I’m not going to live that one down, am I?” Cas asked, his eyes softening.

 “Nope, sorry man. But, uh, if you aren’t too annoyed about me showing up uninvited, maybe you could make it up to me?” Even Dean could hear the edge of hope in his voice and prayed to whatever god might be listening to give him what he wanted, just this once.

 “Oh? What did you have in mind?” Cas asked with the tilt of his head and an arch of his brow.

God, if that wasn't the sexiest look Dean had ever seen he didn't know what was. "I was thinking dinner, maybe?"

“I don’t know, Dean. You’re about ten years early, by my count.”

Dean almost laughed outright. There was no way in hell he was going to wait another ten years for the chance to maybe, possibly bump into Cas unexpectedly. It was unlikely that fate would be so generous and anyway, Jo and Ellen had blatantly accused him of "pining" the week after Cas returned to New York. Which was bullshit. Just because he was drinking whiskey at 2pm and listening to Foreigner’s "I Want to Know What Love Is" on repeat on the jukebox didn't mean he was _pining._ He just really liked that song, okay? 

“Yeah, well, I’ve decided I can’t wait that long, not this time," Dean admitted, never one to mince words. "So, what do you say? Burger and a beer? Maybe a slice of pie?”

Cas smile lost its snarky edge and appeared almost shy. “Yes, of course. I’d like that Dean,” he replied. “Where are you staying? I’ll meet you there."

“Oh, Sammy and I are crashing at a buddy’s place in Brooklyn,” Dean explained. Sam's friend Adam from Stanford had graciously offered up his couch and floor for the weekend to save the brothers from spending their entire life savings on a couple nights in a New York City hotel. It was pretty cramped and Adam didn't have much to spare, but he insisted it was payback for spending all those Christmases at Dean's house in Lawrence to avoid his less than stellar parents. 

“You came all the way to my office in midtown from _Brooklyn_ on the chance that I’d be here to ask if I want to have dinner?” Cas sounded surprised.

Dean shrugged. “More like all the way from Kansas, but yeah. Something like that.”

Cas flushed crimson and Dean felt something in his chest stutter in response. "Well, I'm flattered."

It was as easy as that. They finalized plans for dinner at eight o'clock that night while Dean struggled to stifle the cheek-aching grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. The conversation lasted only a few minutes but Dean still placed the meeting firmly the category of _Worth It._ Worth the two days of driving, the seemingly endless traffic, the $16 parking, the crippling self-doubt. Yeah, definitely worth it because Cas was smiling and blushing and Dean was enamored. Infatuated. Head over goddamn heels.

After all was said and done, Dean turned to leave, but couldn't resist the urge to turn back once more.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"I'm liking the suit. A helluva lot." And because he just couldn't help himself, he shot Cas a saucy wink and watched the guy fall all over himself. It worked every time. 

As soon as Dean was out of Cas' line of sight he felt a surge of joyous triumph. He fist-pumped the air, high-fived an unsuspecting paralegal and gave Jennifer's desk a nice, loud slap on his way out the door. He restrained himself from hugging the mailman in the elevator and the valet who brought Baby around. After being wound so tight for so many days, Dean was giddy with the relief. Because he had a date with a hot ass lawyer who was smarter than hell, wore a sexy suit, was dynamite in bed and blushed like a Catholic school girl.

Yep, Dean was the luckiest guy in Manhattan.


	2. Chapter 2

"What did I tell you, Dean?" Sam prodded, a shit-eating grin plastered on his big dumb face.

"Can it, Sammy," Dean snapped.

"I _told you_ he'd say yes. Didn't I?"

"You might have said something like that, yeah."

Sam was feeling particularly full of himself after his wildly successful interview and was taking it out on Dean. They were back at Adam's apartment in Brooklyn and the three of them were sharing congratulatory beers out on the fire escape, if only to pretend they could feel some semblance of a breeze on the hot, muggy air.

"Now I want to hear you say it," Sam goaded.

"For Christ sakes, Sammy. Okay. _You were right_. Happy?" Dean grumbled and took a long swig of his beer. He pressed the cool glass against his forehead and could have sworn he heard it sizzle.

"Ecstatic," Sam said, his grin widening impossibly further.

"Let me get this straight, you just...showed up? You didn't even call?" Adam asked. He was sitting precariously close to the edge of the fire escape, his feet dangling in midair over the rushing traffic below in a way that made Dean's stomach drop into his knees.

"Why does everyone keep riding my ass about that? No, I didn't call. Big deal," Dean said, pressing his back a little harder against the brick wall of the building, as if by doing so he could keep himself from falling to his death. He was suddenly remembering another reason why he hated living in New York. Everything was so damn tall. Not ideal for a person with an aversion to heights.

"It's just..."Adam hesitated. "Most people would call first."

"Yeah, I got that. The army of secretaries guarding his office made that pretty clear," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"So what kind of lawyer is he?" Adam asked. He peeled off bits of the label from his beer bottle and dropped them over the edge of the rail. Dean's stomach continued it's descent to the floor as the little pieces of paper fluttered down.

"Hell if I know. The sexy kind?" Dean said.

Sam snorted and turned to Adam. "He's a defense attorney."

Adam's eyebrows shot up and he grinned at Dean. "Shit Dean, now we know who to call when you get your ass thrown in the drunk tank again."

"That was like ten years ago, man," Dean said with a wince. "So, what? Cas defends people, that's good, right?"

Sam and Adam shared a withering look. "He's a _criminal_ defense lawyer, Dean," Sam explained.

And, okay, that was a more than a little bit surprising. It wasn't as if Dean thought Cas was defending baby seals or whatever it was that Sam wanted to do with his life, but criminals? Something about it just didn't sit right. Dean had a difficult time imagining the man who blushed at a wink and tripped over his own two feet as a cutthroat attorney who waved accusing fingers at witnesses and shouted things like "objection!" and "where were you on the date of April 15th?" while wearing that unbelievable suit and those dark-framed glasses over bright blue eyes.

"Well, shit," Dean said, distracted by that particular fantasy as he took another long pull on his beer. "What are you two losers going to do while I'm charming the pants off Mr. Law and Order?"

Adam gave Sam a conspiratorial grin. "Sam and I are going out. We're going to meet up with some friends from school who’ve moved to the city."

"Sounds like a nerd convention, if you ask me," Dean said, leaning forward to give his brother a light punch on the shoulder before pressing his back against the brick wall before the vertigo kicked in.

"Jess will be there," Adam said, wiggling his eyebrows at Sam, who ducked his head as his cheeks flushed with color.

Dean gasped theatrically, his hands flying to his mouth in mock surprise. "There will be _girls_ there? Sammy, you dog!"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam muttered as his blush deepened.

"Not just any girl," Adam declared. " _The_ Girl."

"Aw, little Sammy's got a crush," Dean teased.

"I'm like a foot taller than you, Dean," Sam said with a pout, which really wasn't helping his case.

"You'll always be little to me, bro. Well, I better go get ready for my date with Matlock. You boys be good," Dean said as he heaved himself through the window and into Adam's apartment, feeling a sense of relief at the blessedly solid ground beneath his feet.

"Oh and boys," Dean said, leaning back through the window to fix his brother and his friend with a wicked grin and a wink. "Don't wait up."

 

____________________ 

             

After seeing Cas' corner office, Dean really shouldn't have been surprised by his apartment. It was nothing like the brick tenement where Adam lived. No, this place had a doorman, working elevators, central air (thank God) and an entryway with marble floors. Dean rode the elevator to the fifth floor like Cas instructed and knocked on the second door on the left. He ran a quick hand through his hair, straightened his shirt and took a deep breath. Which was fortunate because when Cas opened the door the air rushed right back out of him. 

Gone were the fitted slate gray suit and shiny shoes but in their place, a crisp white button down, dark jeans, and surprise of all surprises, a pair of black and white Chuck Taylors. Coupled with Cas’ untamable mess of dark hair and trademark half smile, he looked unbelievably young. And so very attractive. Dean must have stuttered and gaped because the other man flushed to the tips of his ears and his eyes dropped to his shoes.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, feeling the smile spread over his face while his heart melted like butter over toast.

“Dean,” Cas said to his shoes.

Dean braced a hand on either side of the door jamb and ducked to peer into Cas’ downturned face. “So, are you going to invite me in, or shall we get a move on?”

Cas’s crystalline eyes snapped to Dean’s and he thought for a moment that Cas might just drag him inside by the collar of his shirt and kiss him silly. But Cas straightened, cleared his throat and licked his lips. “I’m ready if you are.”

Dean beamed. “After you,” he said, stepping aside and hovering just this side of too close while Cas locked the door behind him and led him back to the elevators.

Dean couldn’t stop grinning. Cas was giving him little sideways glances, flashes of bright blue that made Dean’s heart skip a beat. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this giddy on a date. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He was pretty sure every time he got close to Cas his chest started fluttering and his palms started sweating and his face would ache from smiling so damn much. When Cas walked into The Roadhouse a couple weeks ago, Dean was certain he was hallucinating. There was no way the guy he’d secretly fantasized about for freaking _years_ was standing right there in front of him looking flustered and nervous and sexy as hell. And now, they were standing shoulder to shoulder in an elevator and Cas was blushing beautifully and yeah, it was really turning Dean on. It wasn’t as if he and Cas ever did much talking. They had a habit of bumping into each other, fucking each other stupid and then going their separate ways. It occurred to Dean that other than some heavy flirting, he didn’t really know how to talk to Cas.

“You look kind of nervous there, Cas. You okay?” Dean asked gently, bumping the other man lightly with his elbow as the elevator reached the ground floor with a ding and the doors parted.

“I don’t date very often,” Cas muttered, looking everywhere but Dean. A look of panic suddenly crossed his face. “I mean, this is a date, right? If not, that’s fine. It’s always nice to see you and I’m glad you decided to look me up while you were here, so if I misunderstood-”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, Cas. It’s a date. And you mean to tell me you don’t often have handsome men from five states away showing up at your office and asking you to dinner?” Dean asked with a wink.

“Um, no. You’d be the first,” Cas said with a small smile.

“I find that hard to believe. But hey, lucky me, right?”

Cas just shrugged and followed Dean to the curb where Baby was parked in all her shiny, badass glory. He watched with no small amount of pleasure as Cas’ eyes swept over her and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down until it was pink and slick.

“You remember Baby, don’t you?” Dean asked as Cas ran a long-fingered hand lightly over the curves of her hood, resting on the side mirror.

Cas favored Dean with a rather saucy look for a man blushing scarlet and said, “Oh yes. I remember this car.” His voice was breathy and deep and Dean’s jeans were starting to feel just a bit too tight. “Say, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“What exactly are your plans for tonight?” Cas asked.

Now it was Dean’s turn to blush. His eyes flicked skywards and he tried to clamp down on his smirk. In all honesty, Dean’s plans for the date had been a bit slap bang at best. He had looked up a couple nice restaurants in the area because Cas was the type of guy who deserved a fancy dinner with white linen tablecloths and candles and wine with names that Dean couldn't pronounce. But Dean had scrapped that idea almost as soon as it occurred to him because it just _wasn’t him_. Dean was the type of guy to drink beer from the bottle and who always had a stash of paper napkins and extra straws in his glove box. He was the type who had permanent motor grease stains on his fingers and owned maybe two nice shirts, which he practically never wore. Dean liked football and fast cars and he probably wasn’t even Cas’ type. But Jesus Christ, Cas was his to a T. Dean had a serious _thing_ for the tall, dark and handsome ones. He liked a guy who could wear a proper suit and drink martinis and spoke with a big vocabulary.  He liked them smart, successful and just a little bit pretty. Sam blamed it on Dean’s not-so-secret obsession with Dr. Sexy on TV, but Dean didn’t read into it too much. All he knew was that Cas was pretty much his dream guy incarnate and he really didn’t want to fuck this up. And who knows, maybe Cas liked a guy who was a little rough around the edges.

“Uh, I dunno. Food? A drink?” Dean said.

“How about a drive?” Cas asked, a little glint in his eyes that Dean was sure he had seen before.

“A drive?”

 “Yeah, a drive,” he said, licking his lips. “I missed this car.”

Cas had to be out of his mind. Dean had driven _nineteen hours_ to get to Manhattan. But god, Dean and Cas had _history_ in this car. Dean would be lying if he said that awkward teenage fumble in the front seat of John Winchester’s Impala hadn’t been the fodder for his masturbatory fantasies well into his early twenties. It was that look in Cas’ eyes, that strange hunger appearing on such an angelic face. It was downright filthy, and Dean knew a thing or two about filthy. But with Cas, there was just something virginal about it. Even now, as a full grown man with such a ridiculously deep voice and pretty face, there was no chance someone else hadn’t tried to defile that. Dean couldn’t be the only one who was desperately aroused by seeing such beauty thoroughly debauched. So, Dean did what he always did, he played it off cool. Well, as cool as one can be when they are actively avoiding rearranging their junk in their increasingly tight jeans.

Dean laughed. “And here I thought it was me you missed,” he ribbed.

Cas hummed. “It’s more the idea of you _in_ the car, I think.”

Dean arched a brow and quelled the desire to shove Cas face first onto the still-warm hood of the Impala and show him the meaning of missing someone. But instead, he said, “Well who am I to disagree with that? Hop in.”

Cas gave him a sly smile and slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. He ran both of those elegant hands reverently over the soft leather of the dashboard before settling into the seat with an audible sigh.

When Cas turned his attention to Dean he looked taken aback, and Dean realized that licking his lips salaciously as he watched his teenage dream feel up his car was moderately inappropriate. Dean cleared his throat loudly, to distract himself or Cas from the tension of that moment. Because Jesus Christ, Dean was so fucked. Since when had controlling his hormones been such a challenge? On an average day, Dean considered himself rather suave, always able to charm the pants off unsuspecting bartenders and shorts-skirted waitresses alike. He couldn’t remember the last time he acted like such a moronic adolescent. Oh wait, yes he could. It was every time he found himself in the same square block as Castiel Novak, with his constant sex hair and that whiskey-and-gravel voice.

Dean started the ignition and, for their own safety, addressed Cas without looking at him. “So? Where are we drivin’?”

Cas removed one hand from the dash and ran it slowly up Dean’s thigh until it rested at the crease of his pelvic bone. Dean dared a glance at Cas only to catch the drag of those straight teeth over that plush bottom lip and the sweep of soot-dark lashes up Dean’s body so salaciously that he swore he could feel the heat of them as they dragged. And yep, that would mean no more looking at Cas, unless Cas was trying to orchestrate their untimely death into the nearest river, because there was no way Dean was going to be able to focus on driving with _that_ look on Cas’ face.

“Who cares?” Cas asked. “Just drive.”

Obviously, Dean had no choice but to comply. “You got it.”

____________________ 

 

An hour and a half later, Dean’s nerves (and hormones) had finally settled to a quiet buzz in the back of his skull and he was able to focus on the road rather than the insane sexual energy Cas was throwing his way.

As it turned out, a long drive wasn’t a bad idea. Dean found that he was able to relax into the monotony of the open road fairly easily. Hell, he’d spent enough time there. After Sammy left for college and John was regularly too drunk to give a flying fuck, Dean would “borrow” the Impala and just drive, no direction, no map, just the eternal promises of the open road. It was like a drug to him, so sweet and addicting. Before he’d realize it, Dean would find himself hundreds of miles from Sioux Falls, lost in those yellow median lines, his mind on the next truck stop diner, next pool-hall hustle, next blue-eyed waitress, next dingy motel room. He’d wake up with the stale taste of whiskey in his mouth, a warm, albeit unrecognizable, body beside him and a few extra twenties in his back pocket. Things were simple, or at least that’s what Dean told himself.

In truth, those had been a lonely couple years. The constant driving, moving, avoiding made Dean weary and he longed to just _settle_ , to know what it felt like to sleep in the same bed next to the same person every night. That’s when he met Lisa. And god, she was a dream. She had the figure of a pin up model and a heart of gold. There was nothing that woman cared for more than her son, Ben, and Dean had found it undeniably attractive. He was such a sucker for the family-types, always needing to repent for the childhood he never had, for the things that he never gave Sammy.

Dean moved to New York to be with Lisa because that is where Ben’s father lived. It annoyed Dean to no end, at the time, but he couldn’t deny Ben his real father, even though the guy was a total prick. In the end, Lisa asked Dean to move out. She was such a smart girl, so intuitive and selfless, she could see that Dean was restless, that he was lost, and she let him go, just like that. Dean needed to go home. John was back in Lawrence and was bleeding Bobby dry of cash and patience. And Dean needed to make money so Sammy could go to Stanford law school, because Sammy _deserved_ to go to Stanford, after what he dealt with growing up. It was the least Dean could do.

Dean remembered the drive back to Lawrence. Even then, he wouldn’t fly. He expected to be sad to leave Lisa and Ben behind, to pack up his few possessions (which constituted no more than two cardboard boxes and one black trash bag) and just drive. But it had felt good, had felt right. They knew Dean back in Lawrence. His family was there, his friends, his past. He missed Bobby and Ellen and Jo.

He’d made one trip back to Brooklyn to pick up a couple of items of furniture Lisa insisted he take and to see Ben’s championship little league game, which wild horses couldn’t have kept Dean from attending. Ben’s team won thanks to a killer pitch by Dean’s little man, a curveball he’d taught him to throw over many hot Sunday afternoons. And then Ben had gone on to some suburban pizza party and sleepover and Lisa begged Dean to be her date, just this one last time, to a party thrown by a girl she met at work. Dean went, and as expected, Lisa didn’t even need him as a buffer, being the beautiful and charismatic woman that she was. Truthfully, Dean didn’t even remember Lisa at that stupid party. All he remembered was Cas.

He remembered the way Cas looked at him, which was pretty much the way he was looking at him now, all sneaky smiles and hooded eyes. Dean remembered the way Cas flirted with him, the way he couldn’t help but kiss that pouty, smart mouth, if only to shut him up for two seconds. After that party, and Cas’ subsequently awkward and entirely misinformed dismissal, Dean drove back to Lawrence and thought of nothing but the man. God, he was sick. He had to have been. Castiel Novak haunted his dreams for years after that. If Dean had told himself he’d end up driving all the way back to fucking Manhattan just to ask the man to dinner, Dean wouldn’t have been surprised. In fact, he would have kicked himself for waiting so damn long, because with a face, a voice and an ass like that, he should have been begging Cas for a real date ages ago.

But there was no time like the present, Dean thought, as he hit the I95, threw his baby into third gear and let the open road do the talking. It was a hell of a lot easier than trying to act smooth around Cas, who looked so cool and aloof and downright _fuckable_. And yep, there went Dean’s brain, straight back into the gutter he was avoiding so adamantly. He was a lost cause.

“There’s a restaurant about five minutes from here that comes highly recommended by my brother,” said Cas, with a cursory glance at his phone.

“Oh no, Gabriel Novak is not going to find a way to dictate the way this night goes. No way,” Dean said, slicing one hand through the air decisively.

Dean didn’t dare look, but he could hear the pout in Cas’ voice when he spoke. “That’s too bad. Especially since Gabe offered his condo on the Gold Coast for the evening. Or did I not mention that?”

Dean nearly swerved off the road. “Come again?”

Cas was grinning so wide now that Dean could see it in his peripheral as he continued to pointedly not look at Cas. “Gabriel. Has an empty condo. Connecticut. 20 minutes from here. But first, oysters?” Cas said slowly, as if trying to coax a skittish cat. Which Dean would not have. He was no blushing virgin, for Christ sake!

“You sly sonofabitch,” Dean said with a smirk and a quick glance at Cas, during which he pointedly did not drive off the road into a ditch. “You had this planned from the start?”

Cas was grinning widely now and his eyes were cast bashfully to his lap.

“You were just going to _casually suggest_ your brother’s place after I’m all hopped up on oysters and white wine, or whatever the hell they drink in Connecticut,” Dean said, playfully.

Cas laughed heartily and the sound made Dean feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “It may have been part of the master plan.”

“And you were going to make me think it was all my idea, weren’t you?” Dean said, his smile growing wider. “You can’t possibly think I’m that easy, can you Cas? It takes a lot more than that to get me on my back.”

Dean could admit that that last one was probably too much, but Cas chuckled darkly and Dean couldn’t make himself regret it, particularly not when Cas said, “Actually, I was counting on it.”

It was Dean’s turn to blush. “So, how far is this oyster bar you’re talking about? I’m suddenly ravenous.”

Cas just gestured vaguely ahead and Dean kept driving, unable to wipe the stupid, lovesick smile from his face. He just hoped Cas wouldn’t recognize it for what it was, that he wouldn’t suddenly notice that Dean was smitten. If the two day car ride to Manhattan wasn’t obvious enough. Shit.

After a particularly long stretch of nothing but trees, winding road and air that smelled of salt water as it flooded through the wide-open windows, Cas gestured to a little shack off the side of the freeway. When he had mentioned oysters and Connecticut, Dean’s mind went instinctively to white tablecloths, expensive wine and mustachioed waiters named Garçon; the very atmosphere he hoped to avoid. But this place had none of those things.

The restaurant was small, with only one room and a noisy back kitchen. The bar ran the length of the room and was topped with Plexiglas gone foggy and yellow with age, under which a variety of shells, sand dollars and sea ephemera was housed. Cas slid onto a stool at the bar with a ripped vinyl seat and Dean sat next to him. Cas ordered them each some cheap, light beer that tasted cool and refreshing along with a couple dozen oysters.

Dean knew better than to order much seafood in Kansas. Being landlocked and rather far south limited one's safe shellfish options, but here, where the air smelled strongly of sea spray, it seemed like a pretty damn good chance to indulge. A leathery old man with blurry, black tattoos curling up his arms, a shiny bald head and a gap toothed smile shucked the shellfish with practiced ease. He wrapped a soggy bar towel around his left fist and jammed a slim, vicious little knife between the shells of the oyster, prying back the top portion, taking a sniff to confirm its freshness and placing it on a pie tin filled with cold rock salt, fresh grated ginger and a few lemon wedges. He repeated the process a dozen times at record speed before placing the tray between Dean and Cas with a grand bow and a lopsided grin.

“Do you eat oysters, Dean?” Cas asked as he plucked a shell from the icy bed.

“A time or two. Why, is there some fancy Connecticut way to eat them?” Dean teased.

Cas took on a mock serious expression and said, “There is only one way to eat an oyster in the half shell.” He took the tiny, three-pronged fork, loosened the oyster meat from the shell, shot it with a squirt of fresh lemon and tossed it back into his mouth with a blissful expression that had Dean enraptured. God, he could watch Cas do just about anything and be enthralled. Dean was certain he would get a hard on watching Cas do his fucking taxes. He’d probably chew the top of his pen or run a hand through his hair until it was all wild and….yep. There Dean went, getting all distracted again.

Cas was looking at him expectantly, so Dean followed his lead. When that salty brine and succulent meat hit the back of his throat, tasting so perfectly like fresh seawater, Dean moaned a little and let his eyes roll back in his head. He’d forgotten how _good_ these ugly little fuckers were. He definitely owed Cas one for bringing him here.

When Dean returned his attention back to Cas, Cas had gone still, an oyster still gripped between two fingers and hovering near his parted lips, his eyes bright and his pupils blown wide.

“What?” Dean asked.

Cas cleared his throat poignantly. “Please refrain from making that noise again,” he said flatly, downing the oyster without looking at Dean.

Dean frowned. “Why?”

Cas’ head whipped around to him and he grabbed a fistful of Dean’s t-shirt at his throat and yanked him forward until there was no more space between them but a breath. “Because if you do that again, I cannot be held responsible for my actions. And I don’t believe Tom here,” Cas gestured at the bartender who was forcefully ignoring them, “would appreciate me attempting to take you right here on top of his bar.”

Dean stopped breathing. Cas seemed to gather himself, releasing Dean’s t-shirt, smoothing it slightly by pressing the flat of his palm on Dean’s chest and dragging it slowly across, dawning a complacent expression and returning to sip his beer as if he hadn’t just threated to fuck Dean on the counter of an oyster bar in southern Connecticut.

Dean coughed a little. “Well, can’t have that, can we?” he said and took a long drink of his beer, draining half the glass in one swallow.

Cas had this uncanny ability of surprising Dean at every turn. Half the time the man was a bumbling ball of nerves, blushing wildly and tripping over a wrinkle in the carpet. But other times it sounded like he’d pulled his lines straight from a porno. Talk about range! No wonder Dean was so gone on the guy, he was a walking contradiction in all the best ways.

They followed the oysters with an order of fish and chips and a couple more beers while Dean let himself relax, enjoying Cas' company even though the conversation was laden with sexual tension and Cas' unpredictable bouts of awkwardness.

"You said Sam had an interview at a law firm today?" Cas asked, licking the grease and malt vinegar from his fingers.

Dean cleared his throat and refocused his attention. "Uh, yeah. Turner & Talbot. Heard of them?"

Cas hummed his assent. "I've heard of them, yes."

"And? What do you think of them? Are they good people to work for?" Dean asked.

Cas gave him a sideways look and shifted in his seat. "I couldn't say."

"You're sounding mighty suspicious there, Cas. If my brother is getting into business with a bunch of crooks, I think I'd like to know."

Cas sighed and turned in his chair to face Dean, resting his chin on one fist. "There is a certain amount of...tension, I suppose you'd say, between our two firms. Ms. Talbot and I have met in court on a number of different occasions. I cannot say it ended amicably."

"And why is that?" Dean prodded.

"I won."

"And what kind of criminal were you defending?" Dean asked, chewing on a French fry.

Cas gave him a sharp look and sat up straight. "That really isn't your business and I certainly don't need your judgements."

Dean dropped his fry and put up his hands in surrender. "Hey, man. I'm not judging. Sammy told me you were a defense attorney and a kind of a big deal. Can't say I wasn't a little surprised, but hey, it's your life. And apparently you're pretty damn good at it."

"Why does it surprise you?" Cas asked, a crease forming between his brows.

"I dunno," Dean said with a shrug. "Off the bat you seem pretty unassuming, a little awkward maybe. Not very threatening." Dean gave Cas a friendly cuff on the shoulder, but Cas' expression stayed shuttered.

"You think I'm awkward?" Cas asked and he just looked so lost and surprised that Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"In an adorable kind of way, yeah. Maybe a little," Dean reassured him with a smile.

"I assure you, my awkwardness has more to do with _you_ than my general demeanor. I find you...unsettling" Cas said sheepishly.

"What? Come on, I'm not that scary!"

"It's not that," Cas was twisting his napkin between his fingers.

"Well, what is it then? You're starting to make me feel bad," Dean teased.

"I don't date very often. I believe I informed you of that earlier," Cas said with downcast eyes.

Dean snorted. "And I still think you're full of shit."

"Why is that?"

"Because look at you! C'mon, Cas. You own a mirror, right? Also, the powerful, high-paying job, swank apartment and fancy suits don't hurt," Dean said with a wink, just to watch Cas blush, which he did beautifully and right on cue.

"I work a lot. I don't have time to date," he explained.

Dean knew there had to be more to it than that. There was no way a guy like Cas didn't have men (and women, for that matter) propositioning him right and left. He was rich, powerful and fucking hot. No, there was a story there, but Dean didn't want to pry. It was too soon to drag out all their baggage and Dean certainly wasn't going to ruin the night over a little misplaced curiosity.

"Fine then," Dean said, draining the last of his beer and licking his lips slowly. "Less competition for me."

At that, Cas smiled, looking relieved.  "Shall we go?"

"God yes," Dean said, smacking a large bill down on the table and dragging Cas out of the restaurant by one hand, giving Tom, the bartender a quick wave.

Back outside, Dean snagged Cas by a belt loop and spun him around, pressing his back against the side of the Impala with a gentle push. He ran a finger along that sharp jawline and watched as Cas shivered minutely.

"So, how about you show me this secret hideaway of Gabe's," Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

Cas' eyes were wide and dark and his lower lip was snagged between his teeth in a way that had Dean's heart on the verge combustion. "Can I drive?"

A laugh exploded from Dean's chest and Cas' face fell into a rather effective pout.

"You're hot Cas, but ain't nobody that hot. No one drives Baby but me," Dean said.

"Seriously? No one?"

"Seriously. No one," Dean countered.

"Dean, I think you might have an unhealthy attachment to your vehicle," Cas said as he rounded the car and opened the passenger side door.

"What, you think you're the first person to tell me that?" Dean asked, sliding into the driver's seat, which after all these years had molded perfectly to the shape of his ass. Dean turned the key in the ignition and grinned at Cas as the engine purred to life. "And anyway, I thought you said you said you liked me in this car?"

Cas' lips curled into a smile as he leaned back in his seat, his head rolling against the headrest, his eyes on the darkening road ahead of them. "Just drive, Dean."

"So bossy," Dean said with a chuckle. "I like it."

And Dean drove.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean shouldn’t have been surprised. Honestly, what did he expect from Gabriel Novak?

He and Cas drove for about ten or fifteen minutes along a road lined with classically quaint East Coast beach homes and sprawling estate properties. But Dean was instructed to turn down a long driveway towards a boxy, stucco atrocity that would have been more at home in Palm Beach than southern Connecticut. The thing sliced across the star-lit ocean-front view like a wound, blatant and excessive.

The inside was even worse. White marble floors were scattered with rugs of some kind of white fur (which Dean prayed was fake, because God forbid the near extinction of the Polar Bears was on account of Gabriel Novak’s appalling taste). The hallway sprawled into a wide living area with floor to ceiling windows and an arching ceiling that emphasized some bizarre artistic light fixture. The furniture was sparse, yet strategically placed with a comfortable, dark-toned lounge and two red velvet chairs situated across from the gas fireplace, because of course the guy couldn’t _actually_ light a wood fire like a red-blooded American man. No, he’d rather just flip a switch and get down to business. Which was exactly what this place was for. “Business.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean muttered as he strolled past the foyer and into the expansive living room. “This is one hell of a shag pad.”

“I’ll admit, it’s a bit much,” Cas said as he closed the door behind him and tucked the key into his pocket.

“So you’ve been here before?” Dean inquired as he turned his attention to a hideous painting on the mantelpiece.

“Well, yes. I was with Gabriel the first time he came to view the property. And I was unfortunately present for the party that ensued after its purchase,” Cas said with a wince as he came to stand next to Dean.

“Is that a portrait?” Dean asked, pointing a finger at a canvas that appeared to depict a very unsettlingly nude Gabriel Novak draped in exotic furs and wearing, oh for Christ sakes, was that a crown?

Cas wiped a hand across his stubbled jaw and fixed Dean with a tortured look. “Horrifying, isn’t it?”

“It’s straight out of a porno that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen. Once or twice,” Dean said with a chuckle.

Cas’ face twisted sympathetically. “What you must think of me for bringing you here, Dean.”

The laugh bubbled out of Dean’s belly before he could think to suppress it. “I think you’re fucking fantastic. I think any date where I get to spend half the time sitting in the front seat of my car and the other half looking at a face as pretty as yours is a ten out of ten in my book. Hell Cas, you could have taken me to the 7/11 and I’d probably end up thinking it was the shit. But this? This is above and beyond anything I could have guessed. You keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that.”

Cas blushed furiously and Dean’s heart soared. “I was in a bit of a time crunch.”

“I just gotta know one thing,” Dean said as he drew closer to Cas, curling one palm around that gorgeous neck to breathe him in, all the sea air and clean soap smell of him. It made Dean’s mouth water. “Why didn’t you just ask me back to your place, if you wanted a piece?” Dean added a wink and watched Cas’ pupils dilate. “Why go to all the trouble?”

Something unidentifiable flickered across Cas’ face and he frowned. Dean’s stomach dropped. Had he said the wrong thing?

“I just – I thought –“ Cas stuttered and Dean pulled him an inch closer. “Home is – it’s _personal_.”

Ah, there it was. Home was just too real. It sent Cas scampering scared from Dean’s living room in Kansas a few weeks prior, and it followed Dean all the way to New York. Well, Connecticut. He should have known. Home was personal and Dean wasn’t welcome there. You take lovers home. The type you'd want to meet your mom and spend the holidays with, not the guy you hook up with in between board meetings. And fuck, if Dean didn't feel like an idiot now.

Dean suppressed a wince and schooled his expression, willing his body to remain loose so as not to give himself away. There was no way he was going to let Cas know how much that hurt him, that he wasn't the type that someone could take home. Cas had seen his house, slept in his bed, ate the food from his fridge because Cas was the type of guy you want to show off. He was the type that you want to take mental photographs of in your house just so you can remember what he looked like stretched out on the couch or sleep-mussed and wearing one of your old t-shirts. 

"I get it," Dean said evenly, thank god. 

"No, Dean, I really don't think you do–" Cas started. 

"Don't worry about it, Cas," Dean said, giving the back of Cas' neck a reassuring squeeze before dropping his hand to his side.  "Now, how about you show me the rest of this eyesore?"

Cas' expression brightened.  "Alright. There's a hideous, heart-shaped hot tub you might like."

Dean snorted.  "Of course there is.  Lead on."

Cas took his hand and pulled him to the hallway. They peeked into the various rooms, sharing the scoffs and groans at Gabriel's deplorable taste. The place was worse than a Vegas hotel room and probably just as coated in unidentifiable fluids. The only salvageable part of the house was the view, which was spectacular. It wasn't often that Dean saw the ocean and he didn't bother to hide his awe as he stepped up to the ceiling-high windows. It was too dark to see more than the white-capped peaks of the waves from the house, but Dean could imagine them crashing against the shore, leaving the beach slick and shiny in the moonlight. 

"Want to go for a walk?" Cas' voice was suddenly very close behind Dean and he turned towards him, watching as Cas' eyes flickered over his face, that little crease forming between his eyebrows.

"A little dark out there, don't you think?" 

"Hm. I suppose you're right," Cas said. "Maybe tomorrow morning?"

"You don't have to be at work?"

Cas shrugged. "I'll call Pamela in the morning. I daresay she'll approve of my taking the time off, however brief. She was rather taken with you this afternoon."

“Oh yeah? She did wink at me, you know. I think she likes me,” Dean said, donning his signature half smirk. 

“I sympathize completely,” Cas said softly.

Cas' brow remained furrowed as he lifted a tentative hand to brush across Dean's temple, running the edge of his thumb down Dean's jawline to brush over his lips. Dean's eyelids fluttered. He wanted to close his eyes tight and lean into that tentative touch, but he was afraid if he shut his eyes for too long, Cas might disappear, might withdraw his gentle, intimate touches and leave Dean bereft. So before Cas could change his mind or Dean thought better of it, he pushed both hands into Cas' hair, watched those blue eyes turn dark and pressed his mouth against Cas'. Dean didn't even bother to stifle the groan that rumbled deep in his chest at the feel of Cas' lips on his, the heat radiating from that gorgeous body. He felt Cas' hands fluttering over his shoulders and his biceps before settling on Dean's hips and drawing him flush against him with a yank on his belt loops. 

Desire exploded in Dean's gut and he snaked his tongue between Cas' lips, tasting the brine of ocean and the malt of good beer on his breath. Cas was an unbelievable kisser. He teased Dean's tongue with these darting little kitten licks that drove Dean fucking crazy. Dean was burning up, the blood searing through his veins at lightning speed, leaving him flushed and short of breath.

This man made Dean possessive, made him crazy with need and were Dean a smarter man with even a shred of self-preservation, he wouldn't have let himself go so easily. But he couldn't help it. When he kissed Cas, everything else melted away. Dean wasn't thinking about anything other than the slick slide of Cas' lips and tongue against his. He let his desire distract him from that funny little flutter in his heart when Cas' fingers flexed against his hips or that hiccupping breath he made when Dean dropped his mouth to suck a mark into the tender spot at the base of Cas' neck.

Dean's arms dropped to wrap tightly around Cas' waist, pressing his fingers into the shifting muscles of Cas' back as he inserted a leg between Cas' thighs. Cas gasped against Dean's mouth as he shifted his stance, dragging the length of his unbelievably hard cock against Dean's thigh. God, Cas must be absolutely aching, the way his body quivered at the friction and he repeated the movement again and again, riding Dean's thigh while the color burned high on his cheeks and his breaths started coming in pants.

Holy fuck it was hot. Dean couldn't drag his eyes away from Cas, watching him rut against him like that, like he hadn't been touched in ages. Dean smoothed his hands down Cas' lower back, grabbing him firmly by the ass and dragging him even harder against Dean's body, rocking his hips against him as he plundered his mouth. And Jesus Christ the sound Cas made, a sort of startled shout as he tore his lips away from Dean's, his eyes gone hazy and wide.

" _Dean!_ Stop. I can't - I need-" But Dean rocked his hips against Cas again before he could finish, letting his thigh drag hard across Cas' cock again.

"Oh _fuck_ -" Cas moaned as his whole body shivered against Dean's.  "Dean, please stop. I'm going to come. Please. I need to see you. I want to _feel_ you."

And oh yes, that’s exactly what Dean was waiting for. He loved to hear this man beg, loved to draw him painfully close to the edge over and over just to see him fall apart completely. It was fucking transcendental to watch and Dean craved it like an addict. 

Dean let Cas pull away from him, noting the flush that spread down his neck and was peeking through the top button of his wrinkled button down. Cas took another step back, a crooked smile crawling across his lips as he began flicking his shirt buttons from their holes. Dean’s eyes tracked his movements with fevered intensity but he didn’t follow.

“Bed?” Cas asked, his voice low and coaxing. 

But Dean shook his head.  “Nuh uh.”

Cas stopped in his tracks, his fingers stilling on the buttons and the frown returning to his face.  “No?”

Dean’s smile turned predatory.  “No. You see that ridiculous fireplace complete with fur rug in front of it? We’re going to fuck on that. Because I’m pretty damn sure that’s what it’s there for.”

Cas’ frown dissipated and he lifted one eyebrow, shooting a skeptical look at the fireplace, with its gleaming white marble hearth and shiny metal detailing. “You’re kidding, Dean.”

Dean took a step toward Cas and ran the flat of his hand down the exposed skin of Cas’ chest, knocking open the last few buttons and felt as the breath caught in Cas’ lungs. 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Dean said with mock seriousness, stifling the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“I’m honestly not sure,” Cas responded, but let Dean pull him toward the hearth by the front of his shirt. 

“C'mon, Cas. In a house like this belonging to a guy like Gabriel? We'd be doing the place a disservice not fucking on that stupid rug. Now get your ass over here and get naked while I impress you with my manliness and start a fire."

Cas shot Dean another withering look, but slid the shirt off his shoulders and laid it carefully over the back of one of the red velvet armchairs set across from the fireplace. Dean flipped the switch on the fireplace with a flourish.

"So much for manliness, eh?" Dean said with a smile as Cas rolled his eyes. "Now, where were we?"

Dean snagged Cas by the back of the neck and dragged him closer, kissing him hard and deep. Cas melted back into the touch, giving Dean the opportunity to snake an ankle around the back of Cas' knees, knocking him to the ground to kneel in front of Dean. Cas' was on Dean immediately, yanking at the fly of his jeans while Dean pulled his own shirt over his head. As soon as the zipper was down, Cas pressed his face against the bulge in Dean's shorts with a groan. Dean could feel the heat of his breath through the fabric and the vibration of his voice against his cock and had to struggle to keep his eyes open because the look on Cas' face was one he was not soon to forget. Cas' eyes were closed, fans of dark lashes spread over the crests of his cheekbones, those long, beautiful fingers that Dean couldn't stop thinking about were gripping his hips, curling around the elastic of his boxers and the expression on his face bordered on beatific.

God, this man was beautiful and Dean couldn't believe he'd be so lucky as to have Cas on his knees in front of him, breathing hotly over his straining cock and moaning like a porn star. As much as Dean wanted to watch this little scene forever, his body could hardly stand it. Dean laced his fingers through that crazy hair and pulled Cas' face away from his body only to drop to his knees in front of Cas and kiss him soundly, to taste the little moans that escaped from between his lips as he pressed Cas gently down onto the fur covered ground beneath them.

Dean trailed his lips down Cas' finely muscled torso, allowing his fingers to roam over the distinct collar bone, every rib and across the fluttering muscles of his abdomen. He could feel Cas straining beneath him, trying to press his hips against Dean's body for friction, but Dean kept just the slightest distance between his skin and Cas', forcing him to feel only Dean's lips and the tips of his fingers. When Dean reached the waistband of Cas' pants, he unbuttoned them slowly, knowing that blue eyes were watching his every move. He peeled the denim and cotton from Cas' legs and chucked his shoes haphazardly away, not even bothering to turn around when there was a sharp crash behind him and Cas' flinched. Dean figured he was doing Gabe a favor, breaking what was probably a gaudy decorative candle holder or some shit. Dean was in no position to care about anything other than the way Cas looked right now, naked and sprawled over snow white fur, firelight dancing over olive skin and ink black hair.

Dean must have growled or made some other embarrassingly animalistic sound because Cas' eyes darkened impossibly further and Dean couldn’t tear the last of his clothes from his body quickly enough. The second he was free from their confines he spread his body over Cas', feeling the warmth radiate from his skin and the hardness of his flushed cock grinding into the flesh at Dean's hip.

They kissed messily, all tongues and teeth and wandering hands gripping at any available flesh. Dean was drowning in it. Cas smelled heavenly, fresh and masculine, and it made him dizzy as he laved his tongue over the pulse point in Cas' neck, feeling the body beneath him squirm when he nipped at the skin with his teeth.

" _Dean_ ," Cas groaned, one of his hands scrabbling around on the floor for something. "Pants. Pants pocket - oh _god."_ Dean pinched one of Cas' nipples between his thumb and forefinger and couldn't help the swell of pride as Cas' struggled to stutter out a sentence.

"What was that, Cas?" Dean asked innocently as he ran the flat of his tongue over the peaked flesh again and Cas whined beautifully.

"There's lube-" Another gasp. "In my pants pocket."

Dean moved his mouth to the other nipple, stroking a hand over Cas' chest soothingly as he nibbled at the sensitive flesh.

"Well, aren't you prepared," Dean teased.

Cas' eyes flew open and he grabbed Dean by the short hairs at the back of his neck with a growl, giving them a hard yank. "Get it. _Now_."

Dean tried to chuckle but the sound came out too breathy and strained. He sat up and felt around behind him for Cas' pants, digging around in the pockets until he found a packet of lube and a condom. Cas was still stretched out beneath him, running shaking hands over his eyes and through his already messy hair.

"Fuck, you're hot," Dean mused before tearing open the lube packet with his teeth and spreading it over his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the liquid. Cas planted his feet flat on the ground and dropped his knees to the sides, exposing himself, though his eyes stayed jammed shut. Dean ran gentle fingers between the cheeks of Cas' unbelievable ass (because honestly, who walks around with an ass like that and isn't getting jumped fucking constantly), circling a finger around the furled flesh of his entrance as Cas' sucked in a sharp breath.

"Is this what you want, Cas?" Dean asked, putting just the slightest pressure behind his finger, not enough to breach Cas' body, but enough that he could feel it.

"Yes, Dean, I want it. Please," Cas begged in that gravelly voice that made Dean’s blood run hot.

Dean settled himself forward, resting his weight on his left elbow so he could keep his body draped over Cas', addicted to the heat and friction of his skin against Dean's own. He applied just a bit more pressure to his finger, pushing just the tip inside of Cas' body as Dean massaged the rim gently open, watching mesmerized as Cas' mouth fell open and he sucked in a shuddering breath.

Dean pushed in further, feeling the muscles around his finger flutter and contract at the intrusion, but Dean didn't stop, he kept going until the heel of his palm was flat against Cas' body before dragging the digit slowly out again. He repeated the slow slide in and out a number of times until the tension in Cas' face faded and his breaths were coming in sharp, wanton little pants.

"Okay?" Dean asked, as he brushed the fingers of his free hand through Cas' hair soothingly.

"God, yes. _More,"_ Cas groaned.

Dean complied, pushing a second finger into Cas' body and _oh shit_ , it was tight and so hot and smooth and Dean had to hang his head and press his face against Cas' shoulder to keep his control. He was going to take this as slow as he could stand. He didn't want to hurt Cas, didn't want him to feel one second of pain. He wanted to take him apart so slowly that Cas would be sobbing for it by the end.

When Dean finally pushed a third finger into Cas' body, Cas' face and body had gone lax, riding the rhythm of the push and pull of Dean's fingers inside of him, his hips rocking slightly against Dean's own. Dean didn't think he'd ever been harder in his entire life. Cas was just so fucking stunning when he let go, when he trusted Dean with his body this way. Dean had had enthusiastic lovers in his past, nights of passion with a beautiful stranger, but this was so far beyond that. Those others didn't even compare to that moment when Cas' surrendered and gave up trying to fight against Dean's slow ministrations, only to have the urgency return as his body shook and trembled while filthy encouragements tumbled from that gorgeous mouth when Dean found Cas' prostate.

"Dean, please, I'm ready. I want you," Cas groaned as Dean dragged his middle finger lightly over Cas' prostate once more. "Do it now."

Dean simply nodded and pushed himself upright, gently withdrawing his fingers from Cas' body as Cas gasped. Dean rolled the condom over his cock, which was so hard and aching he could barely touch it without a soft moan spilling from his lips.

Cas twisted as if to turn over, but Dean pushed him back down with a gentle hand and a shake of his head.

"No. I want to see you," he murmured as Cas squeezed his eyes shut tight and nodded tensely.

That wasn't the reaction Dean was looking for, but Cas' knees fell open for him and Dean ran reverent fingers over Cas' hips before taking his legs and wrapping them around Dean's waist, hitching Cas' body up slightly onto Dean's thighs.

"Ready?" Dean asked, smoothing a sweat-soaked tendril of hair from Cas' furrowed brow.

Cas just gave Dean another sharp nod and sucked in a deep breath. Dean leaned forward and kissed Cas softly on the mouth before pulling back slightly, gripping the base of his cock and pressing slowly, agonizingly slowly, into Cas' willing body in one long slide.

It took all of Dean's self-control not to snap his hips back and drive himself deeper into Cas because the flesh that surrounded Dean's cock was hot and slick and so deliciously tight, but he restrained himself. He tilted his body forward so he was splayed over Cas again before gently rocking his hips forward. Cas gasped loudly.

"Open your eyes, Cas," Dean coaxed. Cas took a shaky breath and did as he was asked, drowning Dean in pools of blue and black. "Okay?"

"Yes, okay." Cas' voice was barely more than a whisper and Dean couldn't help but press tender kisses against the curve of his cheekbones and the edge of his sharp jaw as he rocked forward again.

It stayed slow like that as Dean rolled his hips against Cas, their quiet moans and gasps echoing in the silent room. Cas' hands were constantly moving, winding themselves into Dean's hair, squeezing his shoulders and biceps, running reverently over his chest. His wide blue eyes watching Dean's every move, roving from his face to his mouth down to where their bodies were connected. It felt so _good_ and there was a tightness in Dean's throat and a prickling behind his eyes that he couldn't remember ever feeling during sex and he didn't want it to end, not ever.

But there was a familiar tension curling at the base of Dean's spine and he could see the matching need in Cas, the way he bit his lower lip, his forehead creased and his brow pulled heavy over his eyes. Cas looked desperate and beautiful and the frantic sounds he was making were driving Dean wild.

Dean pushed himself backwards so he was resting on his heels, hiking Cas' body up to angle against his own, driving back into Cas with a sharp snap of his hips. Cas' back arched up off the ground and he cried out, his hips grinding against Dean's pelvis deliciously. So Dean did it again, and again, driving his cock directly against Cas' prostate until Cas body was drawn tight as a bow and his untouched cock was leaking trails of pearly white against the delicate skin of his belly. Dean wanted to lick it up, to press his lips against Cas' and make him taste it, to make him admit that Dean was driving him just as crazy, to tell him that he was _his._

"Touch me, Dean. Please, oh god-" Cas whimpered as Dean wrapped a hand around his wet cock and stroked him long and hard, in time with his thrusts.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, _oh fuck_ , yes! _Dean,"_ Cas groaned and he came. His hips stuttered and his eyes fluttered shut and his cheeks flushed the most incredible shade of pink. Dean could feel the contractions in Cas' ass around his cock and he couldn't take it anymore. He drove himself into Cas' quivering body, drinking in his shouts of pleasure as he came, and came, and came. Holy _shit_ , Dean's skin felt like it was on fire, sensitized to the slightest touch, leaving him shaky and weak as he collapsed against Cas, warm and sticky.

They stayed that way for a few moments until Dean felt Cas' shifting beneath him and Dean rolled off him before he crushed the guy. Dean flopped next to Cas, his body pliant, satiated and heavy with fatigue. It was like resting on a cloud and Dean couldn't be bothered to move a muscle. He thought he felt Cas roll over and shuffle around a bit, and then there was the swipe of soft cotton over Dean's stomach and softening cock. He grabbed blindly at the body next to him, yanking Cas back down beside him, curling a leg around Cas' and flinging an arm over his chest.

"Rest now, Dean," he heard Cas say as long fingers smoothed over his forehead and a warm mouth pressed soft kisses against his temple.

And Dean slept.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke in the early hours of dawn to the first weak rays of sunlight streaming through the windows. There was a fierce ache in Dean's back to accompany the crick in his neck and he groaned into the warm body next to him.  

“Cas, wake up. My back is killing me. Let’s go find a bed.” 

Cas grumbled but cracked open one eye, which he fixed on Dean.  

Dean stumbled to his feet muttering. “I’m getting too old for this crazy shit. Whose stupid idea was the floor, anyway?” 

He reached out a hand to Cas, who was grinning sleepily and chuckling softly as he got to his feet.  

“C’mon, grumpy,” Cas said, taking his hand and walking Dean into the first room with a bed they found. Dean pitched himself into the heap of down comforter as Cas pulled the sheets around him and curled up next to him.  

Dean stretched out a clumsy hand and dragged Cas' naked body closer so he could bury his face in his neck and wrap an arm around his waist. So what if Dean liked to cuddle while he slept? Cas was just so warm and smelled _so good,_ like sex and the beach and more than just a little bit like Dean. And wasn’t that a lovely thought, as Dean drifted back into sleep. 

 ____________________   

When Dean woke again, he was alone. The only sign that Dean hadn't fallen asleep that way was the indent in the pillow next to him and Dean fought to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. 

He stumbled to his feet and into the living room following the smell of coffee and shuffling toward it like a homing beacon, grabbing his discarded jeans and t-shirt along the way.  

Dean had slept like the dead. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept so well. Something about having Cas next to him, warm and secure, felt too right. Which was a strange thought since Dean didn't do sleepovers. No, he preferred to sneak away into the night or take the walk of shame in the wee hours of the morning to avoid any awkward, "don't call me, I'll call you," business. But Dean liked sleeping with Cas, like, actually _sleeping_. A point which was made obvious weeks ago when Cas slept in Dean's bed in Lawrence and Dean pretended he didn't curl up on the other side of the mattress the following night just because it smelled a bit like Cas. 

Dean cursed himself mentally as he poured himself a cup of steaming hot coffee so dark it was opaque. Christ, did Cas know that was _exactly_ the way Dean liked his coffee? Thick and black as motor oil. Perfect. Because Cas was perfect and Dean was so fucking far gone on the guy that no matter how expert Dean was at emotional repression, even he could see it as bright and clear as day. 

Dean finally located the man in question perched on the top step of the back porch, cradling a mug of coffee between long fingers. The sea breeze ruffled his wild dark hair and yesterday's shirt hung open over his chest. And if Dean stood there staring for a few moments, drinking it all in, well, it didn't hurt anyone but Dean, in the long run. 

With a sigh, Dean pushed the sliding glass door open and sucked in a lungful of salty air. Cas didn't turn to look at him, but kept his eyes fixed on the frothy waves crashing against the beach a short distance away. Dean lowered himself onto the step next to Cas, careful not to slosh coffee over the rim of the mug. When Cas still didn't respond, Dean nudged him gently with his shoulder.  

Blue eyes slid to Dean, sweeping from his bare feet to his messy morning hair before Cas turned his gaze back to the ocean without a word. Although, Dean thought he saw his lips turn up slightly at the corners. Now, Dean always got the impression that Cas was the strong silent type. He wasn't what you'd call chatty, so Dean supposed he shouldn't be unnerved by Cas' stoic silence, but he was. Normally, when a date went as well as theirs had, there was significantly more giggling, smiling, touching, anything really. Something wasn't quite right.  

"What's up, buttercup?" Dean asked lightly, angling his body toward Cas. 

Cas' lips twitched, but he just shrugged his shoulders and remained focused straight ahead.  

"You're awfully quiet there, Cas," Dean tried again. "Something bugging you?" 

"Hm?" Cas hummed, finally turning to Dean, a funny, faraway look in his eyes. "Just thinking." 

"Care to share with the class?" 

Cas shook his head. "Nothing I want to bother you with. How did you sleep?" 

Dean snorted. "Nice diversionary tactics there, Cas. And I slept fine, thanks. Great, actually. Like a log." 

"Never heard a log snore quite so loudly," Cas responded with a smirk.  

"They don't call it 'sawing logs' for nothin'. How about you, sleeping beauty?" Dean asked, bumping his foot against Cas', anything to touch him without scaring him away.  

"Yes, fine," Cas said distractedly, turning back towards the ocean. He didn't pull his foot away from Dean's, but he offered no further invitation for physical contact and Dean was starting to feel sick to his stomach. "I imagine you'll be wanting to get back to the city soon. We can leave as soon as you're ready." 

At this, Dean frowned and leaned toward Cas, attempting to catch his eye and failing. "And why the hell would I want to do that?" 

"Well, I just assumed you'd want to spend some time with your brother before you head your separate ways and, of course, I should be getting to work. Pamela has been fielding my calls to one of my associates, who I'm certain will be overwhelmed by midday. The traffic is also far more manageable during the early hours, which, considering the gas mileage on a car made in the 1960s, would likely have some bearing and since neither of us thought to bring a change of clothes, it seems only reasonable that leaving earlier, rather than later, would be ideal." Cas was babbling and looked like he meant to continue but Dean needed him to shut up. 

Dean set down his coffee cup and scooted closer, placing a hand on Cas' cheek and turning him to face Dean. "What's going on, Cas? You're being weird." 

Cas sighed and placed his warm palm over Dean's and pulled their hands away from his face. "I'm sorry Dean, this wasn't a good idea." 

Dean's heart plummeted. "You were sure singing a different tune yesterday." 

Cas huffed a humorless laugh. "Yes, well, you can be very convincing." 

" _Convincing?_ You're saying I somehow _convinced_ you to come to your brother's place in Connecticut, which I didn't even know existed until last night, and then _convinced_ you to sleep with me? That's what you're going with? Seriously, Cas?" Now Dean was getting angry. Where did Cas get off, acting like Dean tricked him into this whole thing? Maybe Dean was being a stupid sap, but he was certain they'd had a _moment_ , last night, before Cas decided to shit all over it. Not like it was the first time or anything. 

"That's not what I meant," Cas said quietly, fervently avoiding Dean's eyes.  

"Then tell me what you mean, because I'm seriously confused here," Dean said, throwing up his hands in defeat.  

"I-" Cas faltered. "I don't do _this_." He gestured vaguely at the space between them. 

"And what is _this?_ " Dean snapped. 

"I don't 'hook up,'" Cas said, complete with air quotes. 

"Clearly, because if you think this is what 'hooking up' looks like, then you are seriously delusional."  

"What else is this then, Dean? It isn't like it can be any more than this. We live hundreds of miles apart and have separate lives to live. Someone is going to get _hurt._ " 

That was it. Cas _knew._ He knew that Dean was falling. How could he not? It wasn't like Dean was hiding it. True, Dean had always been a bit cavalier with his affection and sure, there had been a few trampled hearts along the way, some honest confusion. But not with Cas. No, it was always Cas doing the trampling. Wearing cleats, just for dramatic effect. God, Dean was such a fucking idiot. He should have known that this was too good to be true. And Cas had a point about the distance. What did Dean think was going to happen? The long-distance thing never worked anyway.  

So, Dean did what he did best when his heart was breaking into a million pathetic little pieces: he shuttered his expression, sucked in a deep breath and soldiered on like it didn't bother him one bit.  

"Sure, Cas. I get it. No hard feelings. Let's get back to town before the traffic hits." Dean stood, rubbed his sweaty palms down the fronts of his jeans, rescued his still-full coffee cup and retreated inside, where he dumped it down the drain without a taste. Cas watched him go with that precious, heartbreaking little frown on his face, but Dean wouldn't let himself crumble. He would save that for when he was home safe and wrapped in the loving arms of his old pal Jack Daniels.  

____________________   

The rest of the morning was a bit of a blur. Cas barricaded himself in the bathroom for a good thirty minutes while Dean tidied up the house, just for something to do with his hands. When Cas emerged, his hair was still wet and he smelled soapy clean even from all the way across the room and Dean wanted so badly to bury his nose in the crook of Cas' neck and taste the warm skin. But that would be one hundred percent inappropriate and Dean tamped down on those urges immediately. Cas wasn't his and he wasn't allowed to touch him in the bright light of day. 

 Cas offered the shower to Dean as well, but Dean declined, saying he was eager to get on the road, when, in actuality, he was reluctant to scrub Cas' smell from his skin, though he still couldn't bear to spend another awkward minute in the other man's presence.  

The drive back to the city was tense and silent. Cas' gaze was fixed on the landscape streaming by them and Dean kept his eyes firmly on the road. And yeah, he might have been going 20 miles over the speed limit, but he was just that desperate to get away from Cas in hopes that it would lessen the ache in his chest and the burning behind his eyes.  

When Dean pulled up outside Cas' apartment building, he hoped the man would just get out and leave him in peace. But Cas turned to Dean and placed a hand over Dean's forearm, which Dean pointedly ignored.  

"Dean, will you at least look at me?" Cas' voice was soft and pleading and Dean was sure he'd stopped breathing at this point.  

He turned to Cas reluctantly and fought to keep his expression impassive. But Cas' was looking at him with sad eyes and that little tilt of his head and Dean nearly crumpled, nearly reached for him, but he didn't, thank god.  

"Thank you for coming to see me while you were in town," Cas began and Dean stifled a snort. "I really enjoyed spending time with you. I appreciate you taking the time." 

What the hell was that about? Cas was bidding Dean farewell as if they'd just concluded a moderately successful job interview.  

"I'd say let's do it again, but that probably isn't a good idea. For me, at least," Cas said with a sigh.  

"Sure thing, Cas. It was good to see you," Dean said flatly.  

Cas nodded once and shifted in his seat. He leaned toward Dean slightly, reluctantly, before retreating and shifting around some more and Dean just couldn't fucking take it. This was bordering on torture and Dean needed out. _Now._  

"I'm - uh - double parked here, Cas. I gotta get moving before one of the taxi drivers puts out a hit on me," Dean attempted.  

"Right, of course," Cas said, twisting his hands in his lap. "Good-bye, Dean."  

Cas leaned forward quickly and before Dean could shrink away, he placed a  chaste kiss on Dean's cheek before flinging open the car door and walking briskly toward the entrance of his building. And that was that. Cas was gone and Dean's cheek was practically on fire where Cas had kissed him. Dean wanted to bury his face in his hands and scream, and although the passing New Yorkers probably wouldn't bat an eye, Dean couldn't allow himself to wallow. He was a fool. It was his own fault. Now it was time to go back home, get back to work and move on with his life. In time, he would probably realize that Cas was right. Maybe it really was better this way. 

____________________   

When Dean got back to Brooklyn, Adam and Sam were looking obnoxiously cheerful, sipping fancy hipster coffee while Sam slowly murdered the now dried-up fried eggs and too-crispy bacon he was attempting to cook.  

"Hey, Dean! How'd it go?" Sam asked, fixing Dean with his most hopeful smile.  

Dean just shrugged as he helped himself to coffee and pushed Sam out of the way to start their breakfast over. Dean always did the cooking anyway, because even though Sam inherited the brains in the family, the guy could barely microwave a burrito. 

"I'm not sure if the silence is supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing," Adam teased, but Sam was starting to look concerned. Just fucking great. Dean was counting down the seconds until his brother started asking him about his _feelings_.  

"Dean, is everything all right?" Sam asked, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder, which Dean shrugged off. 

"Yeah, Sammy. Night of my life," Dean said, a half-truth. "How was the gathering of the nerds?" 

At this, Sam's face lit up and Dean thanked his lucky stars that Sam was going to gush about something and Dean wasn't going to have to talk about himself.  

"Well, there's this girl, Jess, I told you about her yesterday" Sam started. "She's amazing." 

Sam had plenty more to say about this "Jess" but Dean hardly heard any of it. He did his best to smile and nod at the right moments while Sam waxed poetic and Dean plated breakfast. Adam chimed in too, teasing Sam about making cow eyes at Jess all night and ignoring the rest of their friends, which Sam halfheartedly denied. 

"Good for you, Sammy," Dean offered. "She sounds like a winner. Be sure to invite me to the wedding." 

 Sam proceeded to blush like a damn teenager, which made Adam cackle loudly and even Dean managed a weak smile.  

After they finished breakfast, Sam took his customary place next to Dean at the sink to help him dry the dishes while Dean washed. Sam remained blessedly silent for the first few minutes, but Dean could tell he was building up to something.  

"So Dean, I was thinking about staying in New York an extra day. I don't have to be back for another couple days, and since Jess is going to be here the rest of the week, we made some plans. That would give you another chance to see Cas, too." Sam's voice was hopeful but Dean could tell that he was fishing.  

"Nah, I think I'll head back this afternoon." 

Sam visibly started. "This afternoon? We just got here. Are you sure you want to get back in the car already?" 

"Yeah," Dean said, imbuing his voice with false levity. "Bobby called and said they're getting pretty backed up at the shop and I'm eager to get home, anyways. New York is giving me hives." 

"You're lying," Sam said, setting the frying pan he was drying down with a bit too much force. "Bobby was about ready to kick you out of the shop and send you on a mandatory vacation when we left Lawrence. What's going on Dean? What aren't you telling me?" 

Dean sighed. It looked like he wasn't going to get out of this one without an explanation. "Things got weird with Cas. He doesn't want to see me anymore." 

Sam's frown deepened. "What did you do?" 

"Me?" Dean shouted accidentally, causing Adam to flinch from where he was watching Sports Center reruns on the couch. Dean hushed his voice but the words still came out unnecessarily rough. "I didn't do shit, Sam. The guy bugged out." 

"No, that doesn't sound right. Cas likes you. I'm sure of it." 

"I don't know what the hell to tell you, Sammy. One second everything was fine – great, actually – and the next he was practically kicking me out. Changed his mind so quick it gave me whiplash. We had to drive all the way back from friggin' Connecticut in awkward silence."  

"What the hell were you doing in Connecticut?" Sam asked, dumbfounded.  

"Long story. Not worth telling." 

"Dean -" Sam started, really gearing up for one of his girly pep talks, but Dean didn't think he could stand it.  

"Listen, Sammy. I don't know what I did to piss him off, but he made it pretty clear he didn't want to see or hear from me any time soon," Dean said, raising his hands in gesture of surrender. "Sometimes, these things just don't work out. It's not the end of the world." 

"Stay another day, Dean. We'll get dinner tonight, hang out, and you can head back to Lawrence tomorrow like you planned and I'll book a flight back to California later in the week. Just stay for tonight," Sam implored.  

Dean knew exactly what his brother was trying to do. He was trying to make sure Dean wasn't alone and although Dean appreciated the gesture, a cuddle and cry with Sam just wasn't in the game plan. Hiding things from his little brother was particularly challenging and Dean just knew that Sam would figure him out eventually, if he hadn't already. And the last thing Dean wanted was Sam's pity.  

"Nah, thanks anyway, bro. But I'm itchin' to get back on the road. You know me, small spaces and skyscrapers just aren't my thing." Dean gave his brother a hearty squeeze on the shoulder and stepped away from the sink to gather his few possessions to load into the car so he could be on his way.  

Just a little over an hour later, Baby was packed and ready to go and Dean was hugging Adam and his brother goodbye. Sam was still giving him the suspicious side-eye, but Dean plastered on his most winning smile, assured his brother it was "no biggie" and that he'd better see him back in Lawrence for Ellen's birthday next month.  

As soon as Dean had Manhattan in his rear view mirror and the stretch of the open road ahead of him, he turned up his stereo as high as he could stand, rolled down his windows and let his troubles fall away into the rumble of the engine and the wind in his hair.


	5. Chapter 5

The drive back to Lawrence was _long_. Compounded with the previous two-day trip just to get to New York, Dean was pretty sure that by the time he got home his ass would be fused to the driver’s seat.   

As much as Dean wanted to drive straight through that first night, his eyelids grew heavy and the yellow lines down the center of the road began to waver and blur. He ended up paying for a night at a roadside motel with scratchy sheets and bad water pressure. But it didn't matter; Dean couldn’t sleep anyway. It seemed his insomnia had returned with a vengeance and with a sigh, Dean gave up on rest as the sun crested over the horizon. 

Dean got back to Lawrence by midday. After dropping his stuff at home and taking a quick shower to scrub the dried sweat from his skin, he headed straight to Bobby's garage. There was no way in hell Dean was going to putter around the house all day avoiding thoughts of Cas and torturing himself over whatever he did to screw it all up. No, he needed a distraction and might as well make a few bucks while he was at it.  

Bobby was sitting at his desk in the office nursing a stained mug of shitty black coffee when Dean walked in.  

"Don't know what you're doin' here, boy. But you ain't workin' today," Bobby said gruffly as he tipped a generous amount of amber liquid from a little glass bottle he kept in the top drawer of his desk into his mug.  

"Aw, c'mon Bobby. You know you missed me," Dean teased as he rolled up his sleeves and scanned the list of work orders tacked to the bulletin board.  

"You were barely gone four days, Dean. What'd you do, drop Sam at his interview at turn straight back around? You're supposed to be taking some time off." Bobby sent Dean a sideways look as he took a sip of his coffee and huffed when the cheap liquor hit the back of his throat.  

"Nah, I stayed for a five dollar cup of joe before I came back," Dean teased.  

Bobby cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. "And Sam?" 

"Aced the interview. They hired him on the spot." Dean grabbed a random work order from the wall; a Volvo that needed a new timing belt. Easy. He waved the sheet of paper at Bobby. "I'll get started on this one." 

Bobby responded with a grunt, but he was looking at Dean through narrowed eyes. Dean took the work order and strolled out of the office before Bobby could stop him, or worse, ask him what was wrong. It wasn't that Dean wore his heart on his sleeve. In fact, he was pretty damn good at hiding his feelings, or that fact that he had feelings at all. Only a handful of people on earth could tell that Dean was hurting with just a look, and Bobby Singer was at the top of that list, followed by Sam, Ellen and Jo. If he was going to make it through the rest of his day without being asked any annoying questions, he was going to have to work hard. If he managed it, he deserved a damn Oscar.  

Ash was bent over the engine of an old pickup truck, wiping blackened fingers on a dingy rag. He straightened when he saw Dean, tossing his mullet back over his shoulder like he was Cindy fucking Crawford.  

"Dean, my man. I thought you were on vacation this week," he said, giving Dean a friendly slap on the back.  

"Yeah, well, I forgot how much I hate New York." Dean walked past Ash to the waiting Volvo and slipped into the driver's seat to pop the hood.  

"I feel ya. I'm a small town man myself. Never saw the appeal," Ash said with a shake of his head. "Don't know how you survived living there when ya did."  

"Yeah, well, you never saw my ex, Lisa," Dean replied with a wink. 

Ash gave a low whistle. "Say no more, my friend. Say no more." 

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Dean threw himself into his work. Even a simple oil change received his full attention, anything to keep his mind from wandering. The summer sun was hanging low in the sky by the time Bobby came out to the garage, shut off the radio blasting AC/DC and turned to Dean. 

"It's closin' time, son," Bobby said, leaning against the Chevy Dean was currently elbow deep in. 

"Almost finished here, give me twenty more minutes," Dean grunted. 

Bobby cleared his throat in way that let Dean know this was not up for negotiation and Dean straightened.  

"Clean yourself up and I'll buy you a beer at The Roadhouse. Ellen will be wanting to hear about Sam," Bobby said.  

"Nah, you know, I was just thinking of heading home to catch the game," Dean deflected. He needed to avoid Ellen at all costs. That woman could smell a lie a mile away. 

"There ain't no game on tonight, Dean. But nice try. Now, I ain't gonna ask you any questions because I know there won't be no straight answers, but I ain't blind, son. Whatever's got you all twisted up, well, I don't think you ought to be on your own tonight," Bobby said as he repositioned the sweaty trucker cap on his head.  

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bobby. I'm fine. Just wanna put my feet up is all," Dean responded, closing the hood of the Chevy.  

"Right. You're _fine_ , and I'm the queen of England. Now get your ass in that car of yours and meet me over at the Roadhouse or I'll send Ellen straight to your front door," Bobby growled.  

"Alright, old man. No need to throw around threats like that." 

Bobby gave Dean a nod and a surprisingly gentle pat on the shoulder before turning back to his office to lock up. Dean heaved a sigh and went to put his tools away. He scrubbed the grease from his hands and wrists, grabbed his keys and pulled the garage doors shut behind him. He dug a clean t-shirt out of the getaway bag Dean kept in the trunk of his car, a habit he'd never quite broken from his youth, and changed out of his sweat stained flannel in the parking lot. Dean heard the engine of Bobby's '71 Chevelle rumble to life around the side of the garage, followed by the squeal of tires signaling the older man's departure.  

Dean let himself sag into the driver seat of his car, resting his chin on the steering wheel and watching the shimmering waves of heat rise from the pavement around him. Maybe Bobby was right. Maybe some company tonight was exactly what he needed. He'd drink a few beers, share a few laughs and forget about all that other shit. He was Dean Winchester and he didn't wallow over a broken heart. Certainly not over some Benz-driving lawyer from Manhattan who vacationed in Connecticut, had a corner office, an apartment with a doorman, bright blue eyes and a growly voice that was so fucking sexy rumbling inches from Dean's ear in the dark of the night... 

No. Nope. Not happening. Dean was getting off track. He jammed his key into the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot toward the Roadhouse, where he parked in his usual spot.  

Inside the Roadhouse was dark and cool. Bobby was already seated at the bar with a bottle of beer in hand, chatting with Ellen, whose eyebrows were knitted together in concern. When she caught sight of Dean, her face cleared and she smiled brightly at him. Great, they were talking about him.  

Ellen uncapped another beer and set it down on the bar in front of Dean as he seated himself on a stool next to Bobby.  

“Welcome home, hon. Bobby was just telling me about Sam. Got the job, did he?”  

“Yep, just like we knew he would,” Dean replied as he took a long drink of his beer. The carbonation burned its way down his throat pleasantly.  

“He’s a good boy, our Sam. Making us proud every day,” Ellen said fondly with a shake of her head.  

“And what am I, chopped liver?” Dean teased. Ellen knew his jealousy was feigned. She and Bobby were the only ones who knew how hard Dean worked to get Sammy into school and keep him on the right side of the tracks, often at his own expense.  

“Now, Dean. You know you’ll always be my favorite,” she whispered conspiratorially as she gave Dean a gentle pat on the cheek before turning back to help other customers waiting at the bar.  

At that moment Dean wanted to run out of the bar as fast as he could and hide himself away somewhere. Ellen and Bobby’s tenderness only broke his heart further and it meant that Dean was doing a pretty shitty job of hiding his feelings. He was going to have to pull it together before Ellen started trying to hug him or send him home with something to eat because that would mean he was well and truly pathetic. 

Of course, it was no surprise that Jo, one of Dean’s oldest and best friends in the world, would shatter his bubble of self-pity.  

“Winchester, back early I see,” she said, pulling up a bar stool next to Dean. She propped the heel of her boot against Dean’s stool and took a hard look at his face before drawing back with raised eyebrows. “You look like someone stole your puppy. Learn that one from Sam, did ya?”  

“Can it, Joanna Beth,” Ellen called over her shoulder from the other side of the bar, but Jo just rolled her eyes.  

“Yeah,” Dean replied with a smirk as he tipped the last of his beer down his throat. “I usually get free beer out of it. And, oh look, this one’s empty.” Dean gave Jo his best Sam-Winchester-Puppy-Eyes.  

“Nice try, asshole,” she said, giving his stool a hard kick. Bobby snorted a laugh into his beer.  

“Worth a shot,” Dean shrugged and signaled Ellen to bring him another one.  

"So, how'd it go with Tall, Dark and Handsome?" Jo asked flippantly.  

Dean tensed and fixed his eyes on the scarred bar top as he attempted to school his expression. He could feel Bobby shooting daggers at her over his bowed head, but Jo wasn't deterred. Anyone who'd ever spent time at the Roadhouse knew better than to underestimate Jo's ire. Pretty face, blonde hair and petite frame aside, Jo had all the delicacy and tact of a drunken biker gang. The woman was a real straight shooter and while Dean often loved that quality in her, it was less amusing when she turned her bluntness and total lack of emotional sensitivity on him.  

"Jesus, if your face is anything to go on it went pretty shitty," Jo concluded with a snort. "He didn't fall for that Dean Winchester swagger like all the other girls?" 

"Eh, it worked until it didn't," Dean said rather than explaining.  

"Well, that's the way it goes, I guess. Tough luck, Dean-o. Other fish in the sea and shit, right?" She responded cheerfully. 

Dean responded with half-hearted grunt. Ellen dropped another beer in front of him and he curled his fingers around the cool bottle and tried desperately to clear his mind of all things Cas-related. But Dean figured he was failing at it when he saw Jo's eyebrows pull together with concern out of the corner of his eye in a way that was very reminiscent of Ellen. Oh well, so much for that Oscar he was hoping to win.  

"Dean-" she started, but Dean snapped before she could finish.  

"Jesus fucking Christ," he said, slamming a fist against the bar and looking heavenward. "Would you all just leave it be? I'm _fine._ So things didn't go as I planned. Big fucking whoop. It's not like I'm a stranger to disappointment." 

Jo's face went hard and when she spoke, her voice was determined. "Now you listen here -” 

"I said leave it, Jo," Dean interrupted with an exasperated eye roll. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"Dean Winchester, you shut your pretty mouth for two fucking seconds and listen to me," Jo snapped as she smashed her pointer finger into Dean's chest hard enough to bruise. "I've known your sorry ass for my whole damn life and I can say with authority that you are one of the kindest, warmest, most selfless people I know. I don't know what that dipshit did to earn your heart, but it's pretty fucking obvious he doesn't deserve it. So help me, if I have to see you make that stupid pouty face on his account one more time I'll steal that precious car of yours, drive to New York and run him over with it because the only one allowed to make you cry is _me._ Now, drink your beer, wipe that look off your face and let's go con those asshole tourists at the pool table out of some hard earned cash. Capisce?" 

Dean chuckled in spite of the heat rising in his cheeks. "Yeah Jo, I capisce."  

"Good. Look alive, Winchester. I can't have you dragging me down," she said with a nod and headed toward the pool table at the back of the bar with a look of fierce determination on her face.  

Dean glanced back at Bobby, who gave him a reassuring half smile before turning his attention back to his beer without a word. That was about as close as Bobby ever got to affection and it warmed his insides just as much as Jo's unusually complementary tirade and Ellen's warm concern. Dean felt the knot in his chest ease just the slightest bit as he trailed after Jo.  

Jo always made an kickass partner in crime. Not only was she a total ace at pool, she could turn a con quicker than you could blink. Dean gave himself a mental pat on the back for that one, since he was the one who taught Jo how to hustle at the pool table, just like his daddy taught him.  

When they were kids, Dean and Sam spent a lot of time hanging around the Roadhouse with Ellen and Jo. Ellen was an old friend of their mother, Mary, and like Bobby, she kept an eye on the Winchester boys after Mary died and John went off the deep end. Minors weren't technically allowed inside the bar, but Ellen rationalized that they were safer in a bar with her in it than running around town causing trouble. Of course, they found plenty of trouble under Ellen's roof.  

On weekends, Dean and Jo would sneak beers from behind the counter and drink them as fast as they could while hiding behind the dumpster out back. Then, Jo would pick out the drunkest college guy in the bar and Dean would challenge him to an innocent, low-stakes game of pool. They'd almost always accept, upping the ante, trying to impress some short-skirted sorority girl they never had a chance with and Dean would wipe the floor with them and then split the winnings with Jo. They'd spend the money on candy bars and CDs and go back to Jo’s place to gorge themselves on sugar while listening to music, stretched out on the floor of Jo’s room.  

A lot of people assumed Jo was Dean's girlfriend. They spent a lot of time together, both in school and out. And sure, Dean had a bit of a reputation and Jo was pretty and blonde with a winning smile and a cute laugh. But it just wasn't that way with them. They made-out once at Kelly Baker's Halloween party sophomore year. They'd been drinking and Jo was wearing this ridiculously tight dress and they looked at each other and decided _fuck it._ The kiss lasted a couple minutes, and it was hot at first, but the second Dean pulled back to take a breath all he could see was the gangly little whip of a girl with ratty pigtails and skinned knees he used to chase after in the playground and the moment was over. They'd laughed hysterically by the total _wrongness_ of the thing and went back to being best friends.  

When Dean admitted to Jo later that year that he might like boys too, she just snorted, rolled her eyes and said something like, "no fucking kidding, Winchester. I could have told you that years ago."  

Dean and Sam left Lawrence the following year but Jo would still call Dean to whine about school or how her mom wouldn't let her ride on Max Fisher's motorcycle and Dean would complain about how boring South Dakota was and tell her about the new paint job he'd given his car. As they got older, the calls became few and far between. Jo travelled for a while after high school, just like Dean. He always wondered if maybe he'd run into her pounding beers at a dive bar in Iowa or checking out of a fleabag motel in Nebraska, but he never did.  

Jo returned to Lawrence shortly before Dean. She called Dean from the road and told him that she was headed home, that it had been a wild ride but her mom needed her and she couldn't stand one more minute with her ass glued to the driver's seat. It was the first time he'd heard from her in over a year and the conversation only lasted a few minutes, but by the end, Dean knew it was time to go home. His relationship with Lisa was going to shit and Dean's dad had made such a mess of things in Sioux Falls, racking up gambling debts with shady bookies and getting himself kicked out of every bar in a ten mile radius, that Dean had no choice but to pack it in and go back to Kansas. The rest was history. 

And now, standing at Jo's back as she made an impossible kick shot, winning a stack of cash and breaking the hearts (and banks) of no less than four drunken frat boys, Dean let himself relax at the familiarity of it. Dean saw his fair share of shit in life and a broken heart was just one more piece of shit to add to the towering shit pile. But he had friends who were more like family, people who cared whether he dragged his ass out of bed every day, who'd miss him if he was gone. And for that moment, it was enough.  

Jo waved the stack of bills in Dean's face with a devilish smile and then proceeded to order a round of shots for the whole bar. They drank away most of the cash and by the time Ellen cut them off and kicked them out, Dean was stumbling and Jo was flushed pink and giggling.  

Dean gave his car a forlorn pat as they passed through the parking lot, promising to pick her up first thing in the morning. He slung an arm around Jo's shoulders and she wrapped one around his waist and using each other as support, they managed to make it back to Dean's house without injury. As soon as they were in the front door, Jo curled up in a ball on the couch and immediately started snoring.  

Dean chuckled and dropped down next to her, sprawling out with one leg propped on the coffee table. He yanked his keys, phone and wallet out of his pockets and chucked them onto the table before pitching backwards against the armrest. His eyelids were heavy and his throat was dry, but the dizzying swell of sleep pulled him forcefully under. 

He didn't even hear his phone ringing, dancing across the coffee table as it vibrated. He didn't see the notification reading _six missed calls._ He didn't see the screen light up and read: _Cas._   


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments/kudos/love. You guys are the best!

"Dean." 

The light behind Dean's eyelids was a bright, piercing yellow and there was no way in hell he was going to open them. 

"Dean!" 

God, his head felt like it weighed about thirty pounds and there was a seriously obnoxious ringing sound coming from somewhere. But no, Dean didn't care, he decided. He kept his eyes shut tight and tried to curl in on himself in hopes that the noise and the light and the _fucking pain_ would just stop.  

" _Dean!_ For fuck sake, wake up! Your stupid phone is ringing!" 

Dean's valiant attempts at denial were shattered when he received a swift kick to shin.  

"Goddamn it, Jo! I'm fucking dying over here. Can you just make that noise fucking _stop?_ Christ," Dean moaned as he peeled one gritty eye open.  

Jo looked worse for wear. Her ponytail had migrated to the side of her head while she slept, her clothes were twisted around her body at awkward angles and her eyes were ringed in yesterday's mascara. If Dean wasn't so goddamn hungover, he might have teased her about it.   

Jo roared some unintelligible words as she lunged for Dean's phone on the coffee table, where the damn thing was still ringing incessantly. Dean watched blearily as she dropped it once, and then twice before stabbing at the screen with her finger.  

"WHAT?!" She hollered into the device. Dean heard some mumbling through the speaker and was about to roll over and chase after the sleep that lingered around the corners of his consciousness when he saw Jo's eyes narrow and her back straighten.  

"Oh, really? Well, Dean is indisposed at the moment. Maybe you should call back another time? Like, the day after fucking _never_! Who the fuck calls a person at-" Jo paused and her round brown eyes shifted to the clock hanging next to the kitchen door. "At nine in the morning, anyways? Ever think of that, buddy?" 

Dean suddenly startled awake. "Nine? It's nine? Oh fuck, I'm supposed to be at work right now. I gotta go. Jo, tell whoever that is that I'll call 'em back later," Dean said as he stumbled to his feet. 

"Hear that? Dean says to fuck right off. He's busy." And with that, Jo hung up the phone and dropped it back onto the coffee table. She wrapped herself in the quilt hanging halfway onto the floor and snuggled down into the cushions and proceeded to go back to sleep.  

Dean jogged to the shower clutching his aching skull and turned the water on cold. It wasn't until Dean was shivering under the spray, the shampoo running into his eyes and mouth that he thought about the call. Messing with Jo when she was hungover was like poking a grizzly bear with a stick, but even then, it was a pretty fucking rude reception for whoever decided to call at what was a fairly reasonable hour on a weekday. Shit, Dean hoped it wasn't anyone important.  

He quickly rinsed the soap from his hair, scraped a toothbrush across furry teeth and decided to forgo shaving in the interest of time. He dried himself purfuntorily, yanked on yesterday's jeans and threw the towel around his bare shoulders as he went to go start the coffee. He'd need the caffeine if he planned to survive the reaming he was going to get from Bobby for being late. 

"Hey, Jo," Dean called from the kitchen as he filled the coffee pot with water. "Who called?" 

"What?" Jo mumbled from under the quilt.  

"You know, the person you just ripped an new asshole for calling my phone at nine in the morning?" Dean said with a chuckle and then winced as his head gave a weak throb.  

"Hmph. Tall, Dark and Dickheaded." 

Dean dropped the mug he'd just pulled from the cupboard and it clattered onto the counter top, but didn't break, thank god.  

"That was _Cas_ on the phone?" Dean asked, his voice gone just a bit high and shrill, though he'd never admit it.  

"That's what I said," was Jo's muffled reply from the living room. 

Oh shit. Dean burst out of the kitchen and sprinted for his phone, launching himself over the couch, but Jo was too quick. Her hand darted out from under the quilt and snagged the phone just as Dean landed with his full weight on her outstretched legs. They grappled for a minute but Jo managed to keep the phone out of Dean's reach, landing a particularly sharp elbow to his gut followed by a swift kick that sent him sprawling back against the armrest.  

"Jesus, Winchester. You weigh about a million pounds. Maybe lay off the cheeseburgers for a while. And can you try not crushing me to death? I'm a delicate fucking flower," Jo spat, gripping Dean's phone tightly in one fist and holding it over her head, ready to toss it across the room in the event that Dean made another grab for it.  

"Delicate flower, my ass. Why didn't you tell me it was him? Give me the phone," Dean held out his palm beseechingly.  

"No," Jo said firmly, tightening her grip on the phone until the plastic creaked. "I'm doing you a favor. Go make your coffee, put on a fucking shirt and I'll give you the phone back. Bobby's already going to kick my ass for getting you drunk last night and making you late for work. Your boyfriend can wait. Plus, it'll be good to make him sweat a bit."  

Dean made another weak grab for the phone but Jo gave him a nasty look and Dean conceded with a sigh. Dean's mind was reeling as he gulped down his coffee, yanked a t-shirt over his head and pulled on his socks and boots.  

Why was Cas calling? Was something wrong? Was he hurt? No, he wouldn't call Dean if he was in trouble. Dean would be the last person he called, he was sure of that. Maybe it was just the guilt? Maybe Cas thought Dean was some unstable idiot and he wanted to make sure Dean didn't do anything stupid on his account, like go out and get too drunk and wrap his car around a tree. Well, fuck him then. Dean was a grown-ass man who could get drunk if he wanted and who was Cas to worry about the shit Dean did? He had no fucking right, calling him after essentially telling Dean he never wanted to see him again. Maybe he just liked to have his ego stroked, to make people fall all over themselves for him, the manipulative fucker.  

Jo was waiting for Dean at the door with his phone in her hand. "Didn't your mama tell you not to make such ugly faces or it'll get stuck that way?" 

"Shut up. My face is beautiful and you know it. Now, give me my phone." 

Jo narrowed her eyes briefly and then sighed, placing the phone in Dean's outstretched palm. "Fine. Just, be careful, okay? I don't wanna go picking up the pieces if he decides to break you apart again." 

"C'mon, Jo. I can handle my own shit." 

"I'm not saying you can't. I just – you're my friend, alright? You'd do the same for me if some guy was jerking me around," she said.  

Dean couldn't help the pleased smile that spread across his face. For all her sass and spitfire, Jo was just a big ol' softie, deep down. Very, very deep down.  

"Yeah, well," Dean responded. "You're a girl." 

Jo snorted. "So are you. Now get out of here before Bobby comes here and kicks both our asses. I'll lock up for you." 

"Thanks, Jo." Dean gave her a peck on the cheek and stepped out into the blinding sunshine. It wasn't until then that he realized Baby was still at the Roadhouse and he'd be walking his ass to the garage. God damn it, he was going to be _so late_. 

____________________   

 "You're late, Dean," Bobby snapped the second Dean stepped foot on the garage floor.  

Dean was busy congratulating himself for not taking his phone out of his pocket once during the walk to Singer Salvage. Of course, managing that had taken a ridiculous amount of will power and the thing was practically burning a hole in Dean's pocket.  

"Sorry, Bobby. Overslept. It won't happen again," Dean apologized with a bowed head. 

"Like hell it won't," Bobby said absently, flipping through yellow carbon copies attached to a clipboard before dropping the thing on his desk like it offended him. "Just get your ass in that garage and get to work." 

Dean shot Bobby a grateful smile and wandered out of the office and onto the floor. Ash was out with the tow truck that morning, which left Dean alone in the garage. He busied himself by glancing over the day's work orders, checking the stock list, adjusting the radio to his favorite station. After about ten minutes of weak attempts at distraction, Dean surrendered and pulled his phone from his pocket.  

Dean cursed under his breath when he saw the multiple missed calls from Cas' number from last night as well as the brief call that morning. Fuck. Dean did not want to have to deal with this shit. He just wanted to move on and the best way to do it was to cut and run. Eventually, he'd forget all about it and everything would be normal again. Dean could go back to seducing waitresses and co-eds and Cas could go back to, whatever the hell it was that he did, and then maybe Dean's chest would stop feeling two sizes too small. Maybe he wouldn't call Cas back at all. The guy would have to take the hint eventually.  

Dean's mind ran in circles the rest of the day. He tried to focus on his work but his thoughts kept returning to stupid blue eyes and stupid sex hair and god damn it, Dean never spent this much time thinking about anyone. What the hell was wrong with him? 

The rest of the day passed with painfully slow. The garage wasn't particularly busy, leaving Dean with barely enough work to adequately distract him from his traitorous thoughts. And yet, when six o'clock finally rolled around, Dean found himself reluctant to head home. Jo would be gone; her shift at the Roadhouse started at four thirty anyway. He thought about heading there for some company, anything to avoid the empty house and wretched loneliness Dean didn't like to admit he felt, but his head gave a weak throb at the thought of alcohol and he scratched the idea almost immediately. He'd go rescue his Baby from the parking lot and head home.  

Dean gave Bobby a half-hearted salute as he passed by the office. The walk to the Roadhouse wasn't far, maybe a mile or two, but the summer heat had settled into the pavement and was cooking Dean from both below and above like a rotisserie chicken. By the time he reached the Impala, his t-shirt was ringed with sweat and the skin across his noise felt tight and a little bit crispy.  

He drove with the windows down but the air was so heavy he hardly felt any relief. Fortunately, the inside of his little house was cool and dark and Dean dropped himself onto the old couch, which creaked under his weight. He peeled off his soggy t-shirt and chucked it in the general direction of the hall, figuring he'd pick it up later and stretched out over the couch, the leather cushions sticking to his still damp skin.  

After about thirty seconds Dean decided that resistance was futile and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. He stared at the blank screen for a few moments before pulling up Cas' number, took a deep breath and pressed _call._  

After the first ring he almost hung up, but before he had a chance, Cas answered.  

" _Hello_ _Dean."_  

Oh god, that voice. Was it ever going to stop having such a visceral effect on him? He cleared his throat. "Uh, hey Cas. You called? Like, seven times?" 

He heard Cas sigh over the line along with some rustling and shifting.  

" _Yes. I apologize for m_ _y...persistence."_  

"Sure. It's cool. What's up?" Dean tried for nonchalance.  

_"I was just wondering–ah–how you are doing?'_

Dean snorted. "Honestly? How am I doing? I'm hungover, not sleeping well and it's so damn hot around here I'm pretty sure Baby's tires are going to be melted to the asphalt my morning. Is that really why you called, Cas?" 

_"Yes. I mean, no. Not really,"_ Cas stuttered. 

"Did you need something?" 

_"Only to speak with you._ _I feel that I owe you an explanation of sorts_ _. An apology_ _._ _"_  

"Listen, man, that's really not necessary. We're cool." Dean cringed at his own lie.  

_"_ _The woman on the phone this morning_ _seemed to think otherwise."_  

Dean chuckled. "Don't worry about Jo. She's all bark and no bite." 

_"_ _Based on our interaction,_ _I_ _must_ _say_ _I find that hard to believe_ _."_  

There was a long silence and for a moment Dean thought maybe Cas had hung up.  

_"Dean_ _, I -_ _"_ there was another long pause and Dean found himself losing his patience. " _I suppose total honesty is the best approach, in this situation. Please understand, this isn't easy for me to say."_  

"C'mon, Cas. Spit it out. You're kind of freaking me out here." 

There was another shaky breath over the line. 

_"I can't stop thinking about you, Dean."_  

"What?" Dean blurted, because that definitely wasn't what he expected to hear.  

_"_ _You are my first thought when I wake up in the morning and the last before I sleep at night._ _And I don't just mean today, or yesterday or_ _even_ _the last few weeks. I mean_ _,_ _I've never stopped thinking about you. Not since the day we met."_  

Dean was sitting on the edge of the couch cushion now, his right hand gripping the denim at his knee with white-knuckled fingers.  

"I don't understand. We were kids when we met." 

_“_ _I know. At first_ _,_ _it was a crush. We were young and you were so beautiful and_ _kind, I couldn’t help_ _myself._ _I_ _always_ _thought it would go away, that I’d forget about_ _you,_ _eventually. But_ _I_ _didn’t. I_ _couldn't._ _"_ Cas voice sounded strained and reedy, so different from his usual timbre. _"_ _I_ _’m never free of you, Dean. You haunt me everywhere I go. Everyone I meet, that I get close to_ _,_ _is like a shadow of you. Being near you is like a drug to me and every time we’re together it gets harder and harder to give you up.”_  

Dean was speechless. Cas couldn't possibly be saying what it sounded like he was saying.  

_"I realize this seems completely incongruent with my recent behavior and I understand if you are uncertain of my motives,"_ Cas continued. _"The thing is, I_ _couldn't_ _keep things casual with you, Dean. You could destroy me and I don't think I_ _would ever_ _recover_ _."_  

"I don't know what to say," Dean said. It was all he could manage. 

_"You don't have to say anything. I understand that you do not feel the same, that you have_ _already_ _moved on._ _That you were never mine to begin with and that I have ruined any chance there might have been._ _The fault is my own_ _. But I am sorry for the way I treated you. It was unkind of me and you do not deserve that._ _You deserve so very much more."_  

"And how do you know that?" 

_"_ _That you deserve more_ _?"_  

Dean took a deep breath. "No. That I don't feel the same. That I've moved on." 

Cas barked a humorless laugh that made Dean flinch. " _You woke up beside a young woman this morning, Dean, I simply assumed-_ " 

"You mean Jo?" Dean sputtered. 

" _Yes. Jo."_  

_"_ Aw, Christ, Cas. Jo is just a _friend_. She and I were out late drinking last night and we both crashed on the couch, nothing more," Dean said, letting the frustration color his voice.  

" _I did not mean to pass_ _judg_ _ment_ _. As I said, I simply assumed that since she was answering your phone first thing in the morning that perhaps there was something there."_  

Dean sighed. "Yeah, well, I guess you wouldn't be the first to think that. But, no. Jo is my best friend, my partner in crime, but there's nothing beyond that, I swear," Dean explained. "So, are you saying you were jealous?" 

" _Incredibly,"_ Cas stated bluntly without a moment of hesitation. _"Dean, I've been inconsolable. Pamela was threatening to send me home._ _"_  

A smile played at Dean's lips and a hot, fluttering feeling manifested behind his ribcage. Cas was _jealous!_ Dean knew that it shouldn't feel so good to hear the other man admit it, but god, it did. It felt so fucking good.  

Dean relaxed against the back of the couch, letting his head fall back as his eyes studied the ceiling. The silence washed over him while his mind tried to organize what Cas was saying, the feelings he was confessing.  

A few long moments later, Cas broke the silence. " _Dean? Are you still there?"_  

Dean released the air he was holding in his lungs and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. "What do you want, Cas?" 

" _What do I want?"_  

"From me," Dean clarified.  

" _Everything,"_ Cas said, his voice little more than a sigh. " _I want everything. I want you to be mine, heart,_ _body and soul. And I would like to be yours. I want to wake up next to you, to learn how you take your coffee, to know your secrets, to earn the respect of the many people who love you. To be one of them._ _"_  

Something in Dean's chest clenched tight and he could hear the blood rushing through his ears. 

"You want a relationship?" Dean breathed. 

Cas chuckled warmly and butterflies erupted in Dean's already churning stomach. _"Yes, Dean. I want a relationship. With you. Very much."_  

Dean was at a loss. No one had ever said words like those to him. Not ever. Cas spoke to him like he was precious, like he was worth wanting and as much as Dean craved the warm fuzzy feeling those words left behind, he also knew that accepting them could hurt. He knew that if he said yes, Cas could strip him bare and Dean wasn't so sure he was ready to feel vulnerable just yet. Maybe he'd never be ready.  

"Cas, I -" Dean's voice broke and he flushed with embarrassment. He cleared his throat subtlely and tried again. "I need to think about it." 

Dean could feel more than he could hear the way Cas wilted when he said, _"Of course, Dean. I understand. I'll be here when you're ready."_  

"Okay. Thanks." 

_"But, Dean?"_  

"Yeah, Cas?" 

_"Even if the answer is no, please tell me. I don't think I can –"_ his voice faded briefly. _"Ju_ _st promise you'll tell me, okay?_ _W_ _hatever you decide."_  

"Sure, Cas." 

_"Goodbye, Dean."_  

"Bye, Cas." 

The phone slipped from Dean's hand and it bounced on the couch cushion next to him. He ran a rough hand through his hair with a groan. What the hell was he going to do? Cas wanted a _relationship_ and now that Dean thought about it, he wasn't even sure he knew how to do that. All previous attempts at something more than a fling turned sour and left Dean lonlier and more lost than before. Lisa was his only real attempt at something serious and he still felt guilty over how that one ended. Dean just wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. And Cas? Cas was so far out of Dean's league, not to mention in another freaking time zone.  

God, this would be a total disaster.  

Dean spent the rest of the evening in a daze. He made himself a sandwich, watched some TV, paced aimlessly around his house. But more often than not, Dean found himself staring hopelessly ahead, remembering the way it had felt to wake up with Cas in his bed, how young and soft he looked when he slept, the feel of his skin against Dean's, the blue of his eyes. Of course, these memories were followed closely by the hollow ache left behind when Cas told him it had all been a mistake, that he didn't want to see Dean again, that it was for the best. If Dean said yes, how long would it take for Cas to come to his senses and kick Dean to the curb? And how much more would it hurt the second time around?  

Dean slept fitfully that night. He woke more than once, sweaty and tangled in the sheets, his mind a mess of worry and longing. By the time true sleep finally dragged him under, the sky was just beginning to lighten and the stars were stamped out by the first rays of sunlight. When his alarm sounded a few short hours later, Dean came to full awakeness all at once. He reached for his phone on his nightstand and dialed Cas' number. 

" _Dean?"_  

"Yes." 

There was a brief silence on the other side of the line.  

_"Yes?"_  

"Yes," Dean responded, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. "I'm in. Let's do it." 

_"You're certain?"_  

"The distance is going to suck," Dean said simply. 

_"Undoubtably_ _._ _But we can make it work."_  

"This is probably going to be a disaster." 

Cas chuckled. "That is a possibility, yes." 

"And it's going to hurt like hell when it falls apart." 

_"_ If _it falls apart, yes. It very well could. But it is a risk I am willing to take."_  

"Me too." 

" _I don't want to share you. If we do this, there can be no one else."_  

"Jealous type then, are you?" Dean teased. The responding growl sent something hot crawling through his abdomen and Dean felt his face flush red. "Okay, okay. There's only you. Got it."  

Dean could hear the smile in Cas' voice when he spoke next. _"When can I see you_ _?"_  

Dean shifted in his bed, rolling onto his side and leaning his phone against his ear. "I can't take any more time off work." 

_"And I can't possibly coax you onto an airplane?"_  

Dean shuddered at the thought. "God, no." 

Cas sighed dramatically and Dean stifled a giggle. " _Fine, then I guess I'll have to come to you. Are you free this weekend?"_  

"Hm, let me check my calendar." Dean shuffled the phone around, hemming and hawing as he pretended to study his nonexistent calendar, because honestly, what the hell kind of Kansas mechanic carried a day planner? "I think I could probably pencil you in." 

Cas responded with a laugh that warmed Dean from the inside. _"Good. I can't wait. I'll send you the details as soon as I've made the arrangements."_  

"Awesome." 

_"I'll see you soon, Dean."_  

"Yeah. See you, Cas." 

The smile that stretched across Dean's face was bordering on painful and he was beyond relieved that no one could see him grinning and giggling like a freaking girl.  

Dean kicked back the sheets and swung his legs off the mattress. He stretched his arms until the bones in his shoulders popped and went to go take a shower, the smile still plastered on his face. 

Goddamn. Today was going to be a good day.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumbleh for fic updates and whatnot.
> 
> Fic/fandom blog: the-sinking-ship.tumblr.com
> 
> Personal: yeahbutnobutyeahbutno.tumblr.com


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